


Start a Flame in your Heart

by Salvio_Hexia



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, BAMF Credence Barebone, BAMF Newt Scamander, Cinnamon Roll Newt Scamander, Cohabitation, Credence Barebone Gets a Hug, Credence Barebone Learning Magic, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gen, Long-Haired Credence, M/M, Made up Magical Pedagogy, Multi, Non-Graphic Violence, Original Percival Graves Gets a Hug, Original Percival Graves Needs a Hug, Original Percival Graves is a Softie, Protective Original Percival Graves, Sharing a Bed, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-23
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-05-10 09:04:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 140,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14734040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salvio_Hexia/pseuds/Salvio_Hexia
Summary: The funny thing about wizards, Credence thought, was that normal people claimed to know everything about them when in reality they knew nothing at all.---In which Credence runs away from home to live in Newt’s moving castle and becomes a rather formidable wizard himself in the process.Or, a magical AU fic that begins with a dash of inspiration from Howl’s Moving Castle (and a bit of Stardust) and then wanders merrily off in its own direction.





	1. Superstition and Circumstance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Standard disclaimer - I own none of the characters from the Fantastic Beasts franchise. This is for fun and the enjoyment of fellow fans; I'm not making any profit :) 
> 
> Also, I want to acknowledge that I borrowed several significant plot ideas from Howl's Moving Castle and a couple of small but important concepts from Stardust, neither of which I own either. This isn't a full-on crossover (there are no characters or place names from the other fandoms worked in) so it won't detract from your reading experience if you happen to be unfamiliar with one or both of those stories. (Though I do highly recommend them to all of you who love fantasy!!)
> 
> It might be helpful to know that the setting for this fic is modeled loosely after the world depicted in the film version of Howl's Moving Castle, which takes place in a fantasy kingdom that has got some early industrial technology, like steam engines and cars.

The funny thing about wizards, Credence thought, was that normal people claimed to know everything about them when in reality they knew nothing at all. 

“They live out in the woods, you know,” declared the woman who worked at the bakery. “ _Sorcerers_ , working all sorts of spells and flying about on brooms. At night they sneak around planting enchanted mushrooms, and if you eat one, you turn into a toad.” She nodded sagely, handing Credence his change.

Credence made a polite noncommittal noise, privately wondering why any wizard would waste their magic on such a thing. If magic existed, surely there were better uses for it than creating an abundance of toads. But he didn’t say any of this aloud, quietly tucking away his loaf of bread into his shopping bag.

“And then,” the woman went on, with relish, “they’ll dance around a fire at night under a full moon, and make you human again, but only if you promise to give them your first-born child.”

Now that sounded awfully familiar.

“Isn’t that Rumpelstiltskin? The children’s story?” Credence asked, brushing away the dark hair falling into his eyes. It was getting long again already, even though Ma had just cut it two weeks before. 

The woman frowned. “Well, I don’t know, do I? All I am saying is, sorcerers can’t be trusted.” 

Credence nodded stiffly, hurriedly bidding her good day and slipping outside.

He supposed most of the talk was just for entertainment’s sake. Nobody had any proof of the existence of wizards outside of rumor and speculation, but that didn’t stop people from coming up with some highly imaginative gossip. Things were quiet, the kingdom was flourishing, and such tall tales were a way to fill the happy boredom of peacetime.

“I wouldn’t suggest you go up into the hills alone, lad,” said the man in the general store gravely, as Credence stocked up on salt and beans and onions, carefully thumbing through the meager contents of his coin purse.

“Oh?” He had a feeling he knew where this was going.

“It’s dangerous, you know, walking out there. You never know what strange folk you might encounter. My neighbor’s boy went out one night, was chased home by a great black wolf and a man with glowing blue eyes.”

Credence tilted his head, considering adding a bar of chocolate that he might sneak to his little sister. “And did you see this wolf?” he asked. “And the… glowing man?”

The man furrowed his brow. “Well, no, but the lad was tremblin’ like a leaf. Had to have been something out there.”

Credence nodded. Probably just a stray dog, or a strange patch of shadow. He didn’t have quite enough money with him to buy the chocolate, but he added a small apple to his pile of goods on the counter instead, slightly shriveled but likely still sweet, one of the last of the previous autumn’s crop. 

“I’m glad the boy is home safe now, whatever sights he saw that evening,” Credence said politely while the man rung up his purchase.

“Aye,” the shopkeeper murmured.

The walk home was pleasant and sunny, cheery springtime thawing the last of winter’s chill and sprinkling the trees with tight new buds and leafy shoots of green. Credence’s boots were worn thin and the right one had a hole in the heel, so he carefully avoided the puddles among the cobblestones left behind by last night’s rain. The water rippled slightly under a tickling breeze before smoothing back out into gleaming mirror-blue pools of sky.

There was something wonderful about this time of year, something indescribable humming in the air, like the rustle of feathers and the creaking of wood, nature waking up after her long nap and reaching for the sky with joy. 

“I bet I’m fastest! I can beat you both up the hill to the big tree, and then all the way back down. If you’re too slow, a wizard will catch you and cut you in half! Come on!” Two little girls sprinted past Credence with braids streaming behind them, a small boy huffing in their wake, his face pink and his eyes wide.

“No, no, wait for me! I don’t wanna be cut in half! Perla, no, wait up!”

The boy’s foot caught on a loose rock and he went tumbling to the ground, straightening back up with a sniffle.

“You okay there?” Credence asked gently. Tearfully, the boy turned, stubbornness in his dark round-cheeked face. He had a small scrape on his chin, but he looked alright. His gaze flicked after the two girls with a hint of apprehension.

“Hey, um… don’t worry, you’ll be alright. You know, the wizards can’t hurt you if you’re very brave and you carry a bit of rosemary,” Credence said impulsively. He snapped a twig off the bundle of herbs tucked in his shopping bag and held it out in offering. “They hate rosemary, smells too clean. It scares them off,” he said solemnly, as if he knew what he was talking about.

The boy stared at him shyly for a moment. “Really?” he whispered.

“That’s what I hear,” Credence replied conspiratorially. “Can’t hurt to have some with you, can it? Just in case.”

This earned him a tiny, hopeful grin. Small dirt-smudged fingers closed around the sprig, and then the boy was off again, little shoes clattering on the cobblestones, the rosemary clutched in his fist. “Thanks mister!” he hollered over his shoulder, narrowly avoiding face-planting again. Credence huffed in amusement, adjusting the heavy strap of his satchel, sweat trickling down his temple under his straw hat. 

Alright, perhaps spreading rumors was a little bit fun.

Credence resumed his walk, his grocery bag swinging against his thigh with each step up the road. The climb up to the church was steep, situated as the city was in the craggy lap of the mountains, but he was used to it, pushing through the burn in his legs and the ache in his lungs. He trudged higher, past the point where the cobbles ended and the dirt began, where the houses grew shabbier and limp grass struggled up through mud churned up by wagon wheels and horses’ hooves. None of those shiny new steam-powered automobiles and trolleys ever came up this way, which suited Ma just fine. The city spread out behind him like a blanket across the valley, colorful and glittering in the afternoon sun, the river a wide swath of mirror-clear blue curling under the bridge and the docks before winding its way far past where he could see. The spires of the palace soared high above it all, flying the Queen’s flag, and the air hummed with that undefinable springtime freshness, cold and sharp and sweet. Kind of smelled like rosemary, actually.

Credence’s steps slowed as he neared the top of the hill, turning off the road to duck down a short narrow lane. The church welcomed him, small and plain and dark, the tidy front stoop and the thick-paned windows staring down at the cheery rooftops below in stern disapproval. Credence carefully scraped the mud off his boots, casting a glance in the opposite direction, up away from the city. Beyond the last few houses, the road became little more than a farmer’s track, crawling out of the valley and disappearing into the enigmatic green folds of the foothills that soared up in swathes of misty forest and distant meadow to the foot of the mountain, far and white. 

The hills certainly didn’t _look_ dangerous, Credence thought, squinting. In fact, they looked quite beautiful; peaceful and green and lush. Not that he had ever been allowed to journey up there to find out.

Reluctantly, he turned his eyes away and went inside.

His younger sisters were in the small church kitchen with their sewing when Credence clomped his way through the door, setting his shopping down on the counter with a thump. He recognized Chastity’s best dress, the one she’d accidentally torn yesterday after Ma’s sermon, her stitches deft and sure as she repaired the small rip in the hem. Modesty’s fingers were clumsier, her attention wandering as she poked the needle into a patch she was sewing on the elbow of Credence’s spare shirt.

“But what about if you start praying, won’t that protect you?” she asked, apparently continuing a conversation that had begun before he arrived.

Chastity sighed impatiently. “I don’t know, Mod. All Miss Trudy told me was that if you go out alone, a wizard will try to eat your heart, especially if you are a pretty girl. They like girls, the prettier the better. She swore it, and she told me her cousin disappeared into the forest one day a long time ago and never came back. And she was as beautiful as the sun.”

Modesty scrunched her face up in thought while Credence poured the beans into pot to boil. “But what about girls who aren’t pretty?” she asked in disgruntlement, stabbing the needle into her project.

“Oh, Modesty,” Chastity said gently. “Not this again.” Her voice grew softer, more furtive. “You know Ma doesn’t ever like to hear us employing flattery, but you’re very pretty, alright? No matter what anybody else says, just hold that knowledge inside you. And never brag,” she added hastily. “She hates that.”

There was a small smile on Modesty’s face, her cheeks pink and her eyes bright. “Okay, Chassy. You’re pretty too.”

“You hush,” Chastity said quickly, but she looked like she was hiding a grin as well. “Best not to mention the rest of the story to Ma either,” she said. “She wouldn’t approve of us talking about unnatural things. Wizards are creatures of the devil, not anything to gossip about with idle tongues. You won’t say anything, will you?”

“Of course not,” Modesty replied emphatically, sticking her needle rather crookedly into her mending. “C’mon, I’m not stupid.” 

“Alright,” Chastity said softly. “And I know you won’t tell on us either, Credence.”

Credence looked over his shoulder at her, ladle in hand. “I heard nothing,” he replied.

Chastity sent him a small smile, while Modesty seized the excuse to abandon her sewing on the table and bounce over to lean against his side. “What’s for dinner?” she asked, peering into the pot.

“Beans and toast,” he murmured, tugging lightly on one of her plaits. “Same as usual.”

She frowned in disappointment but kept quiet, already well-practiced at holding in words of complaint. “Alright,” she said dutifully. “I’m grateful for the food. Thank you for going to the market.”

Over at the table, Credence could see Chastity’s eyes flicker with something like sadness. “You are very welcome,” Credence said, smoothing a hand over Modesty’s small shoulder. “Maybe on Sunday Ma will let us make chicken and potatoes. If we’ve been very good.”

Modesty grinned up at him, pale eyes bright.

“Mod,” Chastity said carefully, “don’t let your work sit unfinished, or you won’t be done in time to have supper tonight.”

Their sister sighed gustily, reluctantly clomping back over to her seat. “Okay,” she said, perching herself glumly on her chair. 

Chastity watched her, the corner of her mouth twitching. “You want to hear another story I heard from Miss Trudy?”

“Yes!” Modesty declared, brightening immediately. “Tell me another! Your stories are much more interesting than the ones in the bible.”

“Now _that_ is something you must never say again,” Chastity said sternly. “If Ma heard you, she’d be very angry.” She sewed another stitch with an elegant flick of her needle, pursing her lips wryly. “But I will tell you one more.”

 

By the time his sisters had finished their mending and Chastity had finished gossiping, Credence had a hot plate of beans ready at the four places at the table, a slice of dark bread and a sliver of cheese waiting temptingly on the side. The clock struck six just as Ma arrived home, pleased to find them all sitting there with freshly scrubbed hands, waiting for her obediently. Few things were more important to her than punctuality and obedience, a lesson any child under her roof learned early and often. Credence still had the belt-marks on his back to prove it.

“Children,” she said softly, “has your day’s work been finished? Every task?”

There was a subdued chorus of “Yes, Ma,” as she pulled out her chair and sat down, keen eyes sliding over each of their faces before landing on Credence. He waited nervously as she stared at him, feeling almost as if her gaze was tugging at his mind, piercing right through flesh and bone to the innermost soul inside. Was she waiting for him to confess something? 

“There are many rumors spreading through the city today.” Her voice, when it came, was quiet, but Credence flinched slightly all the same. “About wizards, and other unnatural things. We may serve as a source of reassurance in this confused time, informing our fellows of the importance of being righteous in cleansing evil from the earth.” Her eyes narrowed slightly. “But it is best not to encourage superstition, or prescribe false remedies. I’m sure you all know that the only defense against the creations of the devil is purity and devotion to the truth.” 

Credence gulped. Did she know about the rosemary? He hadn’t even considered that she might find out about that. But the city was small and the neighbors talked, and someone could’ve remarked on seeing the skinny church boy handing a lucky sprig to a child. 

He could glean nothing from Ma’s expression. She looked stern and faintly dissatisfied, but it was hard to say whether she was any unhappier with him than usual. 

“Pray and be cleansed, now,” she said, and they bent their heads over the table, her voice leading them in their nightly devotion before they were allowed to eat. 

Dinner passed quickly, silent and emotionless. The beans tasted stale in Credence’s mouth, despite the salt and herbs he had added to them, soured by a feeling of uncertainty. The food sat heavy in his stomach as he watched Ma’s small hands set down her knife and fork and delicately straighten the severe collar of her dress. 

“Credence,” Ma said, and he braced himself for her further disapproval. “I want you to take an extra stack of pamphlets with you tomorrow. Make sure that the only word you are spreading about how to deal with witchcraft is the word of God,” she said coldly. “After my sermon, you will stay and hand your leaflets out around the square, and you will make sure to put each and every last one into the hands of one of our fellow citizens before you come home, am I clear?”

Credence swallowed, nodding. “Yes, Ma,” he whispered.

“Good.”

 

He supposed it could be worse. 

The wind whistled through the cracks around his window that night as Credence readied himself for bed, scrubbing his face in the washbasin and cleaning his teeth. Tomorrow would be long and dreary, with little hope of making it home in time for supper, but at least she hadn’t demanded his belt tonight. Still, two whole stacks of pamphlets! He was lucky to make it through one on a good day, as Ma knew perfectly well. 

Credence miserably pulled the apple out of his pocket and stared at the cheery red wrinkled skin. He’d meant it to be for Modesty, but he supposed he’d better hang on to it now. With a gusty sigh, he tucked it into his satchel to serve as a meager lunch the next day and stripped out of his dusty clothes, settling cold and restless in his nightshirt under the thin blanket on his narrow bed. Rain had overtaken the clear skies of this afternoon, whipping against the walls and pattering against the roof. 

Would it rain tomorrow too? He had best prepare himself to spend the day wet. 

Credence pressed his face into the pillow, curling himself tighter under the bedding and trying to clear his mind. He didn’t want to think about the day to come. All he wanted was to fall into the dark embrace of sleep.

Slowly, his wish was granted, his tired body succumbing to the exhaustion of the day. He thought drowsily of the woman in the bakery, of the picture she’d painted of shadowy figures dancing around a bright hot fire somewhere out under the moon, his imagination adding a wolf howling mournfully in the dark. Were any of those rumors real? 

And then his contemplation melted into soft slumber, collapsing and shifting into a vivid dream. The stars were moving across the sky, and someone was singing, and the air smelled fresh and clear. Credence was high up in the foothills surrounded by sage and rippling heather, looking across the green moonlit expanse toward the base of the mountain. There was something moving out there in the mist, something huge and dark, accompanied by a humming and a creaking sound, like the timbers of a ship. 

He squinted to see it better, but the wind whipped his hair into his eyes, and something poked him in the arm.

“Credence, time to get up,” whispered Chastity, her face pale in the early light.

 

Breakfast was subdued, heads bent over dry toast and hot weak tea in the chill of the kitchen, the silence broken only by the shuffle of paper as Modesty dutifully finished folding the extra stack of pamphlets for Credence. Her eyes were wide as she watched him tuck them into his satchel, the fabric bulging with the additional weight. Pulling his coat tighter around his ribs, Credence carefully tugged one of Modesty’s braids and smiled in reassurance.

There were already plenty of people bustling through the square at this hour of the morning, rushing to work or going about their daily chores. Credence was relieved to see that the day looked like it was shaping up to be clear and fine, not a raincloud in sight; it would be warm later, after the night’s lingering chill had dissipated. Ma led them grimly past the brightly colored vendor stalls of the market and around the fountain, passing under the tall statue of the Queen, her regal headdress slowly painted gold by the reaching fingers of the sun even as the grass around the plinth still crackled with frost.

As was her custom, Ma set herself up at the far end of the square where she would attract the most views, partway up the steps leading to the palace. The stairs climbed dizzyingly up the hillside into the cold air, steep and formidable, and Ma marched straight up to a suitable vantage and set up her banner, nodding to the girls to begin handing out pamphlets and shepherding people closer.

The sermon this morning would not be on the bewitching temptations of new technology, the self-indulgence of automobiles or the gratuitous sins of pride and vanity. Today Ma was focused on one particular message above all others. 

“Friends,” she bellowed, “I urge you to heed my warning! There is danger among us. And confusion, and ignorance. We must all be vigilant, stay strong, devote ourselves to truth in the face of illusion. Wizards and witches may walk among us, but we have the clarity of God on our side!”

The banner behind her flapped in the wind, a riot of orange and red flames. Several people gathered closer, but most continued to go about their business, scoffing at her words. Credence woodenly held out his pamphlets, silently begging each passerby to take one, to lessen his load by one thin sheet of paper so that somehow he might be done in time to deserve supper. Nobody seemed to hear him, of course. 

“Witchcraft is taught by the devil,” Ma went on, “and I worry that some in our midst have chosen to accept his teachings, to turn their back on the light and sully their souls with filth. You have all heard the rumors! Do not let these sinners roam free any longer! They are a danger to all of us!” The embroidered flames behind her snapped and crackled, almost as if they had come alive. Credence startled a little when the next flyer he offered was accepted, a blonde lady in a pink coat smiling at him in what might have been sympathy. He blinked and she was gone, sliding effortlessly into the crowd, immediately lost to his eyes despite the bright color of her outfit. 

The knot of people listening to Ma was growing in size, attracted by her dramatic pronouncements. Perhaps they found this more entertaining than her customary tirade against the evils of pleasure-seeking.

“Like all sinners, those who practice sorcery are bound for the fires of hell, the eternal pit of damnation. It is up to us to identify the wicked and cast them out of our town, destroy them, so we may live free of their influence! Yes, even now, they could be enchanting you, making your children sick, cursing you with ill will. Friends, have you spotted anyone with the look of a wizard about them? Do not be afraid to speak up.”

There was a rustle of unease throughout the crowd, though nobody seemed willing to condemn any of their neighbors. He could see Ma casting about for a hapless volunteer to question further. “Don’t fear, now. We are all here because we are concerned. You, there, friend, what drew you to our meeting today?” 

The man she had pointed to looked completely startled, one hand clutching a satchel and the other adjusting the knitted scarf around his neck. He appeared to have just wandered past by accident, green eyes wide and surprised. 

“Are you a seeker?” Ma pressed, “A seeker after truth?”

“Oh! I, er…” The man’s cheeks were a bit pink, perhaps from being caught off guard, and Credence noticed he had soft freckles kissing the bridge of his nose and scattering over the arch of his cheekbones. “I’m more of a chaser, really,” the stranger said distractedly. His voice held the exotic shape of an accent, lilting and light, and his eyes darted to the ground under feathery eyelashes, avoiding Ma’s expectant gaze and the stares of the crowd. He awkwardly shuffled his feet, clearly uncomfortable. “Erm, yes, sorry, excuse me…”

And then he was hurrying away, and Credence felt oddly disappointed, as if something important had just passed close by only to slip out of reach again. He thought he saw the man glance back over his shoulder just once before the tails of his blue coat whipped around the corner of the building at the far end of the square.

“Perhaps you, then,” Ma crowed, imperious, pointing at another onlooker. Credence drifted further from the steps, only half-listening to the murmur of voices behind him. He felt very odd, a vague sort of tugging feeling behind his ribs struggling to push outward, to go somewhere, to perhaps wander in the direction the man in the blue coat had disappeared. But that was ridiculous. His task was only just begun; the pamphlets were clutched limply in his hand, waiting dutifully to be distributed. 

He turned his attention back toward the crowd of people still steadily growing around Ma’s small raised figure as she gestured emphatically from her perch above them all. What was she planning to do, he wondered, if she actually found a wizard or a witch? Did she really intend to burn them at the stake? It was one thing to preach of cleansing the city of evil, but another thing entirely to take a life, to stir up fear and hate and pit people against each other. 

This was all making him feel a bit sick. 

 

Time crawled past, interminably slow, as Credence woodenly held out flyer after flyer, occasionally managing to find someone interested enough in the sensationalism of Ma’s speech to take one. 

Still, his first stack was less than half gone by the time the royal guard showed up, fifteen minutes before eleven, two officers in crisp blue uniforms marching out of the crowd with stern looks on their faces.

“Ma’am, we’re going to have to ask you to move.” 

The soldier was gruff but polite, a tinge of weary resignation in his voice. This wasn’t the first time Ma had needed to be shooed off the palace steps like an indignant pigeon, but it was the first time Credence had felt so desperately relieved about it. There was something about her sermon today that made him extremely uneasy. 

“I demand you let me speak! I have just as much right to stand on these steps as anybody!” Ma said icily, but the soldiers would have none of it.

“By order of the Queen, any gathering that disrupts the traffic of the square and prevents customers from reaching the vendors at the market must be moved to another location,” the guard said. “As you know, ma’am, you must speak somewhere else.”

Credence looked over his shoulder in time to see Ma huff in annoyed defeat and turn to direct Chastity to pack up the banner and move off the steps. She and the girls would go back to the church now, handing out flyers on the way, and then they’d have a meager lunch and spend the afternoon quietly cleaning and studying the bible before supper.

Supper, which Credence might not get to have. 

It was already nearing lunchtime, the sun tracking across the sky to shine straight down on Credence’s shoulders, casting a short, dark shadow on the cobblestones. His stomach growled. On any other day, he would be painfully envious of his sisters, longing to go home and eat, yearning for the relative ease and calm of reading at Ma’s elbow rather than walking outside all day in his worn-out boots. But something was different today. He didn’t quite care that he was hungry, or that he was already getting a blister on his heel, or that his somber clothes were now uncomfortably warm in the midday sun. He didn’t want to sit next to Ma, or hear her say another awful word about witches. 

And there was something still tugging in his chest.

Who was that strange man with the accent? And where had he been going?

Credence knew he should be sticking around the square, obeying Ma’s orders. But there was an itching in mind, a question that needed answering, an unexplainable feeling that there was something he needed to do, though he wasn’t sure what it was. The feeling was very peculiar, and not entirely comfortable, but he also couldn’t seem to stop himself from following it.

What was down that alley?

Credence tentatively drifted closer to the narrow opening on the edge of the square, shooting a furtive glance over his shoulder once more. Ma and the girls were small silhouettes in the distance, marching up the road and out of sight. 

Surely there was no harm in handing out his pamphlets elsewhere in the city; the people down by the docks were just as in need of guidance as the ones up here, weren’t they? Credence took another step, wondering whether that would be a worthy enough explanation to convince Ma he still deserved supper after going wandering off. If she even found out, that is, which she wouldn’t, if he was smart about this. 

It wasn’t as if he was shirking his duties completely, after all. He could complete his task _and_ look for the man in blue at the same time. 

Right?

So, really, he wasn’t doing anything wrong.

Clutching his pamphlets tighter, Credence straightened his shoulders and moved with as much confidence as he could muster, slipping through the cool shadows of the alleyway the man in the blue coat had disappeared into. 

 

His initial search proved to be a disappointment. 

There was nothing in the alleyway but old crates and someone’s scrap heap, a startled cat leaping up onto a windowsill and out of his reach. Credence’s feet carried him onward, still expectant, but the street at the other end had was just as ordinary and unremarkable, devoid of any sign of the exotic stranger.

Well. Best keep on going, then.

By the time the city clock struck half past two, Credence had made his way through every alleyway in the lower east side of the city, his blister was stinging like mad, and his strange determination had melted away into frustrated despair. He had handed out only a few more pamphlets and had eaten the tiny apple in a fit of hunger, and now, with an exhausted huff, he sat himself down on the bench outside a small cheery pastry shop, its wooden sign creaking slightly in the wind. 

He was being a fool, wasn’t he? What had he been expecting? To traipse across half the city on a… what, a wild goose chase after some stranger, and find some sort of miracle? Have an epiphany? He honestly wasn’t sure what he’d been hoping for.

The breeze ruffled his sweaty hair, pleasantly cool, bringing with it the tantalizing smell of cinnamon and honey, on top of the faint green scent of the hills. Without really thinking about it, Credence closed his eyes, trying to recapture the dream he’d had last night about walking through the drag of wet grass, high and rustling. He had been surrounded by the plants that grew up closer to the mountains, where the air was crisp and the mist coated everything in a fine film of clean dew each morning. 

There had been something else in his dream, though, hadn’t there? Up in the hills, he had been watching something, waiting, a growing feeling of excitement humming in his chest. Something was out there, a shape in the mist, moving closer. Something _important_.

“Well, hello there! You alright?”

Credence blinked rapidly, squinting up into the face of the genial man standing before him with a polite smile stretched under his thick mustache. Goodness, Credence had been so lost in his imaginings that he hadn’t even heard him approach. The stranger had a flour-covered apron tied around his waist, and a faint crinkle of worry lining his forehead. 

“I don’t mean to interrupt, you looked so peaceful. But I was worried you might be a little dehydrated. Warm day like today! Would you like some water?” the man asked, holding up a full water glass frosted with chilly condensation. Credence’s tongue promptly stuck to the roof of his mouth at the sight. “I’ve got a pitcher-full inside the shop, too, if you’d like another,” the stranger announced. “Plenty more where that came from.”

“Th-thank you, sir,” Credence managed to say thickly. “I’d be much obliged.” Now that he was thinking about it, his throat felt horribly dry, his clothes unpleasantly warm and sweaty. The water gleamed at him, crystalline and clear.

“Please, help yourself,” the man replied, placing the glass into Credence’s hand. “And maybe after you’ve finished, you might be willing to help me with something.”

Credence paused, the cup hovering at his lips, feeling a faint slide of apprehension. Of course. Nothing pleasant came without a price; everything had to be earned, even a mouthful of water. Hadn’t he learned that by now, living under Ma’s roof? He took a tentative sip from the glass, waiting for the stranger to demand that Credence perform some task in exchange for the cold drink. Maybe he’d ask him to scrub the counter inside? Or sweep the front step?

But, as he watched, the baker simply pulled a grease-paper package out of his apron pocket. 

“I’ve got a new recipe I’m trying out,” he said, “and I was hoping you might taste it for me. I need someone else’s opinion, you see. Can’t seem to decide if I’ve got the flavors balanced right.”

For a moment, Credence just gaped at him rudely, unable to find the words to reply. The baker folded open the paper to reveal a round little pie, buttery and still steaming hot, and Credence’s voice lodged itself in his throat. The aroma of mushrooms, chicken, and potatoes overwhelmed his nose, along with the rich savory scent of the crust, saliva rushing into his mouth and his stomach gurgling in furious insistence.

“I…” he managed croakily. “Are you sure, sir? You want me to taste that… without paying for it?”

“Absolutely,” the stranger replied. “It’s only a prototype, no sense in charging any fee. Have as much of it as you want, too. No need to stop after just a taste, if you like it.”

“You’re… you’re giving me the whole thing?” Credence asked, distantly aware that his voice was coming out high and incredulous. “You want me to eat all of it?”

“Well, that’s up to you,” the baker declared reassuringly. “No need to force yourself, but I’d be very grateful if you’d let me know what you think. I put in some oregano and basil, and just a little bit of crushed rosemary, and I’m wondering whether you’ll find the amount of herbs too weak or too strong.” 

Once again, Credence stared, his hands already reaching of their own accord to take the round little pie. It was heavy in his cupped palms, wonderfully dense, sure to fill his stomach, sure to send him home to Ma well-fed and content.

Oh, but then she would _know_ , said an anxious little voice. If he came home like that, she would know that he’d eaten food without her permission, and such sumptuously indulgent food too. And that would definitely not please her. 

The pastry stared up mournfully at him, golden and perfect, heat radiating out from its center into the desperate clutch of his hands. He felt like weeping in frustration.

“Are you alright, lad? Do you not like the smell of it?” Bless him, the baker was now seating himself carefully on the bench next to Credence, watching him with concern, and Credence realized he was being terribly discourteous. 

How could he possibly refuse such a generous gift? Surely it was worse to be rude than to be gluttonous, just this once. Anyway, he didn’t think he had the strength to resist.

“It smells wonderful, sir,” Credence said firmly, his voice a bit hoarse. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me. I’ll be happy to tell you what I think.”

At his words, the man gave him a sudden glowing smile, as if he’d said something incredibly delightful rather than just recovering his manners. “No need to apologize, lad,” the baker said kindly. “You are the one doing me a favor.”

Credence would perhaps have protested that generous statement and reiterated his thanks, had he not been preoccupied with devouring the first bite. The taste of the pie exploded on his tongue, hearty and warm, and he discovered that there were carrots and peas inside as well, along with a wonderful creamy mushroom gravy. He might’ve whimpered a little bit.

“It’s delicious,” he said, swallowing thickly. The crust was just as wonderful and buttery as it looked, and the herbs added just the right amount of sharp green spice to the meaty filling. “I wouldn’t change anything. Truly, sir, I mean it.”

“Jacob,” the man said, still grinning under his mustache. “You can call me Jacob.”

“I’m Credence,” he murmured, feeling suddenly shy. “Pleased to meet you.”

“And you as well,” the man said easily. “It’s very fortunate that you came and sat down on my bench this afternoon, Credence. I happen to be all out of taste-testers today, with my family out and about, and I was just looking around and wondering what to do when I spotted you! I like to get the seasonings and the balance just right before I make a whole batch to go in the pastry case.”

“Well, I think you’ve done it,” Credence said politely. “This pie is perfect. You deserve to be very proud.”

“Oh, you are too kind. The ingredients do all the work, not me,” Jacob said, eyes sparkling. “Herbs grown fresh, you see, make all the difference. Not just any herbs, mind you, but the right ones. A friend of mine picks them wild in the hills and sends them to me.”

Credence made a noise of surprise, having just taken another large bite of pastry. With effort, he swallowed his current mouthful, gasping at Jacob. “The hills? You mean… All the way out there?”

“Yep,” the man said calmly, as if nobody had ever heard of the dangers that lurked up in the foothills. “I think the flavor is better on the plants up by the base of the mountain. Basil, thyme, wild garlic, it all grows up there. I never get my herbs from over by the Waste though, learned early on that the plants there are all a bit sour."

Credence stared in astonishment at the last bite of pastry in his hand, an unexplainable thrill rushing through him at the thought of eating something from so far away, a piece of that far green meadow up beyond the edge of his narrow life, in a whole different world. He imagined that he could hear the leaves rustling on the low plants, wind sweeping across the hillside in a rippling caress, almost like a sigh of satisfaction.

“I think that explains why this is the best pastry I have ever had,” he said plainly, popping the last wedge into his mouth. 

Jacob looked elated. “Really? You liked it that much?”

Credence nodded, cheeks bulging, his stomach feeling fuller than it had been in weeks.

“Well, thank you for your feedback. I think this recipe is ready, then!”

 

Their pleasant conversation wound naturally to a close after that, although Jacob offered to give Credence a second pastry for the road. This, however, he politely refused. Ma would surely find out, and there was no sense in risking her ire more than necessary. It was enough, he thought, that he wouldn’t be hungry the rest of the day, especially since he still had his stack of pamphlets to hand out.

His satchel hung heavy against his side as he resumed his trudge along the main streets of the town, holding out a paper toward anybody who didn’t turn away in disgust at the familiar sight of his dusty shabby figure. The blister on the sole of his foot began to hurt sharply once more as he walked, and the good feelings that had lingered from talking with Jacob slowly drained away like sand in an hourglass, a luckless unstoppable trickle. 

Credence sighed, leaning against the brick wall of an apothecary, his heart sinking. The clock tower showed that it was nearing four, the city starting to muffle itself against the coming evening. It would be cold that night, for sure, the clear skies promised it. 

And Credence was not welcome at home until he finished his task.

It sank in then, truly, how foolish he had been. Wandering around in search of an interesting stranger and then chatting carelessly with Jacob all afternoon! What an idiotic thing to do, with the pamphlets burning a hole in his bag. He’d been ready for the possibility of missing out on supper, but he hadn’t considered that he might be out all night as well.  
Credence felt as if he’d been dealt a dull blow to the chest. Where would he go? He had nowhere to sleep.

With resolve fueled by desperation, Credence readied the rest of the papers in a stack in his arms and tried to entice a passerby to take a pamphlet with a welcoming smile. 

She didn’t even look at him. 

Perhaps the smile wasn’t a good idea, actually, considering it probably didn’t hide how miserable he felt. Credence let his shoulders slump, stopping in the opening of an alleyway for a moment to try and clear his head. There was nothing for it but to keep trying, summon the will to press onward. And even if he didn’t finish his stack of pamphlets by nightfall… he would _not_ lose hope. He couldn’t afford to. _Someone in this city will help me,_ he thought frantically. _I will find somewhere to stay._

He was just straightening up again, shakily bolstering his courage, when he saw several royal guards appear around the corner, coming toward him. 

Instinctively, he stiffened.

“Well, will you look at that,” said one of the guards, his tidy midnight-blue uniform spotless and the bronze eagle of the Queen gleaming on his chest. “The freaks are still out in force, handing out their little propaganda.”

He strolled closer and spat on the ground, splattering the side of Credence’s boot with saliva, his face twisted with disgust. Credence did his best not to react. There was nothing surprising here; he was used to being an unwelcome presence, almost everywhere he went.

The other soldier looked stiff and uncomfortable, but she made no move to stop her fellow guardsman from continuing. 

“You think you know so much, little freak? You know _nothing_ of the world. We might be facing an end to peacetime, war could be on the horizon, a _real_ threat from outside the kingdom, and here you are trying to stir up distrust among our own people. Goddamn zealots,” the man growled. “Deluded and self-important, the lot of you. Think your crazy mother is so great? She’s a nuisance, and a fool, and a waste of the Queen’s time. Trying to barge in to speak with Her Majesty when she has far more important things on her mind!”

Ah. So it had been one of those days, then. Ma had been making periodic attempts to force her way in to speak to the Queen ever since her last audience request had been denied with a polite but unequivocal ‘no’ from the palace. There had been a time when Her Majesty had listened to Ma’s rants with long-suffering serenity, but now, it seemed, she did not have the patience.

“If we go to war with Myria, there won’t be anybody to listen to your petty whining about sin and damnation and witch-hating, you little ingrate, so you’d best think about that the next time you harass some unsuspecting citizen into listening to that garbage,” the soldier snarled. 

And then, in one strike of his gloved hand, he knocked the stack of pamphlets out of Credence’s grip and sent them fluttering down to the dirty wet cobbles of the road, Modesty’s many careful folds quickly transformed into a sodden heap, trampled under passing feet.

_No._

Credence suddenly couldn’t breathe.

The sight of that sad, soggy mess of paper on the ground prickled sharply at him, like Chastity’s needle jabbing through fabric. It didn’t matter what the soldier had said about Ma, nor did he truly care about spreading the messages of condemnation written on those pages. But Modesty had spent hours smudged with ink from the printing press, her small hands aligning the edges perfectly, hard at work with her head bent over the table, glancing longingly toward her drawing pencils and her stuffed bear. 

She had made those pamphlets instead of _playing_ , and now they had been destroyed by a nasty man with no clue how important she was, how much she had sacrificed.

Credence felt as if a match had been struck inside him. There was anger whirling black and furious in the hollow space behind his soul, looping its way up his spine and tightening its grip around his ribs. He felt hot, his palms sweating, something tight and sharp crackling behind his eyes as he glared at the soldier, who was staring at him in amused satisfaction.

“Oho, look at that, the little freak isn’t such a zombie after all,” he crowed to his companion, who was frowning and staring over Credence’s shoulder. There was wind whipping at Credence’s hair, something boiling like tar in his veins, the taste of ash and ozone in his mouth.

“Excuse me,” came a pleasant voice suddenly from behind him, and Credence jolted. He whirled around, his mouth falling open in surprise, anger draining away. 

There he was, the man in the blue coat, standing there with one hand fidgeting with the end of his scarf. 

“I think you’re being very rude,” the man said plainly, his green-eyed gaze flicking up at the soldiers for a moment before skittering away over the waterlogged papers strewn across the road. “I would’ve thought that a trained representative of Her Majesty would have developed more integrity and composure than a common schoolyard bully.” His accented voice was light as he drifted a bit closer to Credence. “It seems I thought wrong.”

The soldiers were both gaping at him, the woman looking a bit sheepish and the man slowly turning purple in the face. 

“Er,” the man in the blue coat said awkwardly, perhaps realizing that the best thing now might be a hasty retreat. “Yes, just thought you ought to know. Terribly disappointing, I’ll have to mention it the next time I have an audience with the Queen. Excuse us.”

And then he took Credence by the elbow and began gently marching him away down the alley. 

The male soldier sputtered indignantly, apparently finding his voice again. “Like you’ll ever get an audience with the Queen!” he shouted after them. “Who are you, some sort of vagabond?”

He was rapidly shushed by the female soldier, however, and Credence heard her whisper something to him under her breath, hurried and intent.

“…think that’s him, anyway. Hard to tell with wizards, I’ve heard their faces change.” 

And then Credence and his rescuer were turning the corner at the end of the short alley and entering another one, the stranger’s grip on his elbow gentle but firm.

“Well, that was thoroughly unpleasant,” his companion said amiably, and Credence whipped his head around to goggle at him, his mind still whirling. This man had just saved him quite neatly from a very uncomfortable situation, but Credence was still a bit stuck on what the soldier had whispered. Could he… was he really a wizard?

“I do apologize for butting in, but I just hate bad manners,” the man continued politely. “No matter how important you think you are or who you are talking to, there’s no reason to be impolite.”

Credence was busily examining his rescuer’s face for any signs of unnaturalness or evil, but all he found were delicate freckles, a mop of copper curls, and the clearest and most beautiful green eyes he had ever seen. Those eyes were very lovely up close, ringed with little flecks of gold that made Credence want to stare at his irises forever. 

The man looked a bit stymied by Credence’s silent stare, his gaze flicking awkwardly over Credence’s face before returning to the alleyway ahead of them.

“Thank you,” Credence finally managed to wheeze, belatedly. Surely this stranger wasn’t a wizard. Just an unusually kind man with pretty eyes. “I appreciate your intervention.”

“Oh, don’t mention it,” the man said with a friendly half-smile, glancing at Credence shyly once more. He didn’t seem to like to maintain direct eye-contact for more than a moment, his bright green gaze tracking all over their surroundings instead. “Might I walk you home?” the stranger asked.

They were still walking purposefully, turning out of the alley onto a quiet street lined with shops closing for the evening, the river twinkling below them in the fading light.  
Credence wasn’t entirely sure how to answer the man’s question. He had no more pamphlets, nothing to hand out, his day’s work lying ruined in the road. But did he dare show up to Ma’s doorstep empty-handed now? It was probably best to wait a bit longer.

“No, thank you,” he said thickly. “I don’t need an escort home, but I’m grateful for the offer.”

This got him another brief, assessing glance, perhaps slightly disappointed. “Ah,” the man said, “Very well. I shall let you get on with your evening then.” He smiled, softly, and Credence was filled with something like panic.

“No, wait,” he gasped out, clutching the man’s arm when he made to pull away. “Um. It’s just that I can’t go home yet. I didn’t mean that your company was unwelcome.”

The stranger had paused at Credence’s outburst, stopping them in front of a tiny shop selling hand-knitted sweaters. A petite elderly woman raised her eyebrows at them as she locked the door and hobbled away.

“Oh,” the man said softly, his face relaxed and open. “Alright. In that case, can I escort you somewhere else? Any last errands you needed to run this evening?”

But Credence could think of nothing. He had nowhere to be, nothing to do. For the next few hours, he was just a body taking up space, aimless and anonymous. The thought was glum, but it also felt rather freeing. His hesitation must have shown on his face, because the man revised his question.

“Or perhaps your day’s tasks are done. How lovely! Shall we simply take a stroll instead?”

Somehow, Credence managed a nod, astonished when the man smiled and automatically folded Credence’s hand into the bend of his elbow, the material of his blue coat soft and warm under the callouses on Credence’s palm. It felt taboo to walk like this, escorted like a lady, but it didn’t appear to matter one whit to anybody they passed. In fact, it was almost as if several rowdier groups of people heading to the pub after work couldn’t see them at all, their eyes skating right over Credence as they hurried past him. He might as well have been invisible. 

Well, being invisible was a notable improvement over being scowled at and spat upon, that was for sure.

The man in the blue coat was humming quietly, his eyes scanning the buildings in open curiosity as they passed, smiling absently at the silty blue of the river. It occurred to Credence that the man had to have had some reason for visiting the city today, some business of his own that he’d been attending to before he came to Credence’s rescue. He was a foreigner, after all, and Credence was keeping him from his travels.

“Sir,” he piped up tentatively. The man’s head whipped around, looked at him in something like bewilderment. “I… I was just wondering if perhaps you had an errand to run. Before, you must’ve been going somewhere. I don’t wish to hinder you from anything important, and I… I’d be happy to assist in any way that I can. Considering that you did me a great favor.”

The man’s mouth parted silently for a moment. “Goodness, that’s very kind of you. What a considerate thing to ask,” he said, the words tumbling out in a smiling rush. “But I find myself free from obligation this evening as well, and it is my pleasure to wander here with you. My only request is that we dispense with formalities.” His eyes crinkled a bit as he grinned, reassuring Credence that he’d taken no offense. “No need to call me ‘sir’. My name is Newt.”

Shyly, Credence could feel his own lips forming an answering smile, completely baffled at the extraordinariness of the day. He’d made two friends, it seemed, Jacob and Newt, and despite the turn of ill fortune with the pamphlets it had been a far more pleasant afternoon than he’d had in a long time.

He was just opening his mouth to say so, and to tell Newt his own name, when an icy cold breeze suddenly sent goosebumps up the back of his neck, the corner of his eye catching an unusual flutter of movement in the lengthening shadow of a building. 

That was odd.

He looked closer, startled to see a shape that looked like a cloaked man, but… not. It was very strange-looking, and something about it made Credence’s heart begin to pound faster, his mouth going dry. The peculiar figure was lurking under the overhang of a boathouse, just barely distinguishable from the rest of the shaded darkness, its ragged cloak rippling in the wind. 

Most unnerving of all, though, under the deep cavern of its hood there were no distinguishable facial features. Just inky black.

“Um,” Credence said, his voice coming out tight and confused. “Do… do you see…” he squeaked. The air was very cold. “It almost looks as if that man hasn’t got… he… he doesn’t have a _face_ ,” he whispered.

He was half hoping that his new friend would tell him he was crazy, that his eyes were playing tricks on him. For all the rumors circulating about the dangers of wizards, he never had truly expected to see one, or to come across something frightening here in the heart of the city. There were still plenty of people out on the street, reassuringly loud and boisterous, but they were passing right by the cloaked figure without giving it a single glance. 

Newt, however, seemed to see it just fine. “Ah. Oh dear,” he said, stopping in his tracks. “I’m afraid you’re right. Er… why don’t we turn back now?” he said, quickly wrapping his arm around Credence’s waist. “I think I’ve seen enough of the river for today.” Hurriedly, he steered them both back up the cobbled street and away from the docks, Credence unable to resist glancing anxiously over his shoulder. 

The thing, the not-man, detached itself from the shadows and began to move, clearly following them. Credence suppressed the instinct to scream. It was _definitely_ not human. The way it moved was not like any man would; it seemed to glide over the ground, eerily semi-transparent.

“So, you…” he whispered hoarsely. “You can see it too? That… cloaked thing?”

Newt looked at him sharply “Yes,” he said simply. “I can see it. And I think we ought to start running.” He lengthened his strides into a dash, and Credence followed suit, the cobblestones blurring under their feet. Credence felt a brief flash of worry that he wouldn’t be able to keep up, that his tired legs would stumble or trip over the uneven stones of the alleyway. 

But, somehow, he didn’t trip. They were sprinting, the brick walls flying past abnormally fast, Credence dizzily cognizant of Newt’s hand on his waist. The man was guiding them through the narrow maze of alleys, their legs flying over the ground, glimpses of the palace appearing in the flashing openings between buildings. 

The _palace_? 

But that made no sense. How could they possibly be already up near the palace again? They had just been by the docks, and it had taken Credence a good few hours to walk down that far! There was a small hysterical voice in the back of his head that was pointing out that this was impossible, that something _not right_ was going on here, but Newt’s arm was wrapped protectively around his waist and that thing was still following them, matching the speed they were going, and the air was clammy and cold. He didn’t really have time right now to wonder if he was going mad, or if something here was unnatural, if there was something devilish at work, some sort of…

 _Witchcraft_. The word sunk into his mind, flashing red and orange in alarm, like the flames on Ma’s banner.

There were more of those creatures up ahead, and Newt suddenly pulled them to a halt, swearing under his breath.

“Oh, bugger, I stayed too long, didn’t I. Oh, you greedy bastard,” he breathed, and Credence tried not to hyperventilate, unsure who he was talking to. The hooded shadow-man behind them had been joined by another, and another, and they were trapped in a narrow alleyway with shadows approaching on both ends. Despair clogged Credence’s throat, a heavy feeling of dread weighing on his chest as he panted breaths that misted in the abnormally icy air. 

“It’s going to be alright, I promise, just hold on tight and don’t look down,” Newt said suddenly, and then his arm had tightened around Credence’s waist and the alley was twisting away from him in a disorienting smear of shadows and he no longer knew where his lungs were. How could they possibly fit inside his ribs, when his entire chest felt like it was being squeezed through a tube the size of a wedding ring? Credence’s mind reeled, his body feeling very small and very large at the same time, compressed and then expanded, and by the time he managed to take in a deep shuddering gasp of breath he was standing on top of the clock tower.

Like a muddy cart wheel stuck in a rut, his brain spun around several more times, not managing to move him any closer to comprehending what he was seeing. 

He was standing _on top_ of the _clock tower._

Nope. It didn’t make any more sense the third or the fourth time he tried to process it either. Credence gaped vaguely at the city below, helplessly confused.

“But…” That was the square, right down there, and further down the valley, a good seven miles away, those were the docks. They’d been there… and then they’d been here… but they were still supposed to be down there. On the ground. Not on the roof of the tallest building beside the palace, with no railing to prevent them toppling off. 

“What just happened?” he breathed squeakily, slowly becoming aware that Newt was still gripping him tightly, the other hand rummaging in his pocket and pulling out a long slender stick. “Is… Is that a…” He almost couldn’t say it.

“A wand, yes,” Newt replied matter-of-factly, and Credence felt faint. 

“You… You really are a wizard, that soldier was right,” he said distantly, watching Newt wave the wand in some sort of pattern in the air, creating a shimmer of light. He muttered something, and a staircase appeared, Newt leading him straight down into the clock tower like there was nothing unusual about entering from the roof. Like he did this all the time.

“Yes, I am,” Newt said softly, his hand gentling its hold on Credence’s waist once they were no longer surrounded by thin air on all sides. Credence gaped, his mind blank with shock, as the stairs disappeared behind them. They had emerged into the mechanic’s room, a claustrophobic web of machinery and gears ticking along rhythmically, counting the never-ending march of time.

“I wish I could stay and explain, but I’d best keep moving,” the wizard said, his voice intent as he hurried Credence past the clicking mechanisms and out into a spiral staircase. “Those things out there are following me,” Newt went on. 

He was looking Credence straight in the eye for once, his gaze solemn and worried. 

“They work for the Wizard of the Waste, a terribly rude fellow with a bad temper who wants me to give him something I am disinclined to part with. I will be just fine, I know how to fight them off, but I want to make sure you get home safe. Now, I’m going to go lead them on a bit of a chase, and I need you to wait here until the clock strikes half past six to make sure they’re all gone before you climb down and go back out onto the street. Can you do that for me?”

Credence, shaken and absolutely agog, somehow managed a nod. 

“Good,” Newt said warmly. “I think you’ll have enough daylight left to make it home before nightfall, but just in case, you’d better take this.” 

He was holding out a sprig of rosemary, and for a moment Credence had a terrible illogical fear that it was some sort of joke. What did his made-up talisman have to do with real wizardry? 

“I know it doesn’t look like much, but I’m afraid I didn’t think to bring anything else. Anyway, magic is all about belief,” the man continued, perfectly serious. “If you believe this will keep you safe, then it will. And I’ve enchanted it a bit, just your standard protection spell against curses and such.”

Feeling like his world had been shaken sideways, Credence closed his fingers around the rosemary and sniffed it warily. Spicy, green and fresh. Just normal rosemary. But, then again, at first Newt just seemed like a normal man.

“Alright, then,” the wizard said, squeezing Credence’s shoulder lightly. “You have a lovely evening, my friend. I apologize for the added trouble. Always seems to happen around me, I’m afraid.” But he hardly seemed bothered by this assertion, his eyes crinkling again in one of those irresistible grins. “I hope I see you around.”

And then there was a popping sound, and he was just… gone. 

The wizard vanished as if he’d never been there in the first place, leaving Credence to stand there frozen with a sprig of green clutched in his hand, questioning the very nature of sanity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Another fic!  
> This idea was bouncing around in my head for a long time, and I started picking away at writing it back before I posted All Twisted Up. Unfortunately I probably won't manage to post updates to this story quite as speedy-quick as my previous work because things with me are currently super busy, but I am hoping to keep to a steady posting schedule of at least once a week! :) The rough draft is basically done and I will be posting the chapters as fast as I have time to polish & edit them. My editing process is taking longer these days, which I think (I hope) means I'm learning something. Like, how to recognize more ways to improve the flow of the story, maybe. I dunno. The more practice the better :)
> 
> ♥


	2. Uninvited Guests

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Chapter two!  
> Lovely readers, I ought to warn you, this chapter contains Mary Lou Barebone doing canon-typical things of an abusive nature. The scene is very brief and close to the beginning of the chapter, if you'd rather skim past it. I promise I don't go into a ton of detail.
> 
> :) And then on to the adventure!
> 
> Also thank you so so much for your comments and kudos so far!! I'm sorry I haven't responded to any of them yet - I hope to have time to do that soon!!!! Please know that I appreciate each and every one of them. Thank you for reading!

It was very dark by the time Credence left the clock tower. 

He’d stayed frozen on the staircase for a long while after Newt had vanished, trying to reconcile the world he lived in now with the dull, ordinary one he’d believed he was in when he woke up this morning. The sprig of rosemary was tucked into his lapel pocket, a tiny vivid reminder that this evening’s events had not been a fever dream, that he really had magically dashed across half the city in the space of a few moments and then somehow popped into existence on top of a tower.

Because things like that were _possible_. Credence strolled along the road under the stars, staring at everything around him in a sort of bemused joy. _Magic was real_. It was going to take a long time before that fact lost its sparkling shine of disbelief.

There were no shapes following him, thankfully, as he trudged up the hill toward the church, no sign of the cloaked not-men in the moonlight. ‘They work for the Wizard of the Waste,’ Newt had said, his expression tightening. Good grief, Credence wondered, how many wizards were there? And if this Wizard of the Waste was a nasty fellow, how many wizards were like him? How many were evil? Surely not all of them.

Newt certainly didn’t seem to be evil. 

Credence caught himself blushing as he pictured the wizard’s bright grin, the polite way Newt had come to his rescue in the alleyway, the warmth of his arm wrapped protectively around Credence’s waist as he shepherded him away from the shadow creatures. That didn’t seem like something an evil wizard would do. Someone who turned people into toads for sport couldn’t possibly be so chivalrous and kind. Or have such pretty eyes.

Feeling light as air, Credence lengthened his strides as he climbed the road, lost in dizzy contemplation. He thought back in amusement to the soldier’s words in the alleyway that afternoon. _You know nothing of the world._

Well, he couldn’t have been more right, though Credence doubted this was what he’d meant. The world was far stranger and more impossibly wonderful than he had ever dared to hope, and he had so much more to learn, so much more he needed to know. How many people in the city knew about magic? How many knew the _truth_ , not those ridiculous rumors and children’s stories? Was there an entire world of witches and wizards hidden, here and now, just out of plain sight? 

Oh, it was just so incredible to think about! 

Magic was _real_ , and wizards were real, and all those gossips in town didn’t know the first thing about what it was really like to meet one. Credence was the only one lucky enough to have befriended Newt, to have discovered the precious truth that not all wizards were as devilish as Ma would’ve had him believe.

Good lord, what would Chastity say, when he told her? And Modesty!

The night was dark, but Credence felt as if he were full of bright fire, joyous and strange. Everything he thought he knew was shifting and melting, and becoming all the more beautiful for it.

 

The church was quiet as Credence let himself through the door, still smiling, absently scraping the mud off his boots before he stepped inside. He’d barely felt the cold of the night air on the walk home, warmed by the racing of his thoughts. 

The sight of his mother waiting for him on the stairs, however, was enough to turn every part of him to ice.

She didn’t bother with pretense. 

“Where have you been?” 

Her voice was soft, disappointed, and all of his jubilant feelings of wonder curdled and shriveled inside him like dead leaves. Oh, lord, how on earth was he going to explain himself?

“I… I was handing out pamphlets,” he began tentatively. 

She gave him a sharp penetrating stare, and he found he couldn’t go on. What could he possibly say? Obviously, he couldn’t tell her about Newt. And maybe it was best not to mention the soldier ruining his stack of leaflets this afternoon, lest she probe deeper into what he’d been doing ever since. 

“I lost track of time. I’m sorry,” he finished shakily, though he knew full well that wasn’t going to be good enough. 

He could see her assessing his words, judgement weighing heavy in her eyes along with a flicker of stern triumph. Credence swallowed, his throat sour with the taste of what was sure to come next. 

Sure enough, her small, calloused hand stretched out to him, demanding his obedience in a silent command. As a little boy, he used to think Ma had nice hands, rough from hard work, but warm and alive. Someone to take care of him. Now, after more than twenty years under her roof, he hated that hand, what it meant. 

His fingers moved numbly, almost of their own accord, unbuckling his belt and sliding it loose from his trousers. The waistband sagged on his bony hips without its assistance, worn and threadbare from use. He was proud that his arm wasn’t shaking as he held the belt out for her to take, the movement drawing her attention unwittingly to the lapel of his coat.

“And what’s this?” Once again, her question was soft, one hand taking the proffered belt while the other plucked the sprig of rosemary out of his pocket. “Credence?”

To this, he truly had no answer. Overcome by a wrenching feeling of loss, he barely refrained from making a soft sound of dismay as she crushed the rosemary in her small fist, staring intently at his face.

“We have no room in our hearts for superstition, Credence,” she said, quiet and cold. “Come upstairs now.”

Like a puppet in one of the children’s stalls at the market, he followed her woodenly up to his room, his steps heavy and clumsy, as if his legs didn’t want to obey her order any more than he did.

She made him take off his coat, roll up his sleeve, and kneel. 

The first _crack_ of the belt across his palm brought reflexive tears to his eyes, as it always did, no matter how hard he tried to steel himself. He gasped quietly, desperately trying to fill his mind with other things: Newt squeezing his shoulder, Jacob’s elated grin when Credence complimented his pastry. _Crack_. The way Newt formed his vowels, the light tenor of his accent shaping his lyrical voice into something beautiful and exotic. _Crack_. ‘My friend,’ Newt had said, and later, ‘I hope I see you around.’ _Crack_. His eyes had been so green, almost like the swathes of emerald that painted the distant hills, where Jacob got his herbs. _Crack_. Which ones had he said grew there? Basil, thyme, and wild garlic. _Crack_. Maybe oregano and rosemary too. _Crack. Crack. Crack_.

His hand was throbbing and burning with pain, a scabbed-over welt from earlier this week split and bleeding anew. Credence struggled not to flinch as Ma tipped up his chin, staring down at him. 

She appeared to be feeling merciful tonight.

“Well?” she asked expectantly.

He looked up, and for a moment he felt nothing but detached disgust, as if he was seeing her through a rippling fog of unfamiliarity. Perhaps he would never understand why she did this; her dark eyes and darker mind were completely unfathomable to him. 

“Thank you,” he said stiffly, the way she liked him to.

She nodded in satisfaction. “You will pray for a full hour before you go to bed, repent of your wicked idleness and disobedience today. And pray for God to forgive you.” Her fingers stroked his cheek, a parody of gentleness, and then she was gone, leaving the belt swinging from the hook by the door.

 

The moon was nearly full outside his tiny window, the clear sky full of stars, as Credence tried grudgingly to direct his thoughts toward repentance, even though he wasn’t at all convinced he’d done anything wrong. Was it really a sin to meet someone new, someone different, and to keep an open mind about them? 

But that wasn’t even what he was being beaten for. Did tardiness really merit such dire consequences? Sin or not, maybe it didn’t matter. Ma would find some fault with him no matter what he did. 

He wasn’t sure how long he knelt there on the hard floor, staring out at the moon, wondering if it might be better, one of these days, not to come home at all. He was a man now, not a child, and yet he felt as powerless as the sprig of rosemary crushed in Ma’s fist, his heart bruised by the idea of never seeing his sisters again. 

No. He could not leave, not with Modesty so young still and Chastity yet to come of age. 

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t dream about it, couldn’t fantasize that he was leaving. Where would he go, if he had complete freedom? He imagined walking out of the church that very night and striding up into the hills, cloaked in the dark and the wind, lost among the wild vastness of the stars. Maybe if he climbed high enough, the glittering velvet black of the heavens would swallow him whole; the world would tip upside down and he’d be removed from it all, devoured by the sky, leaving the earth behind. The thought was oddly comforting. 

Perhaps, up there in the air, he would be able to look down on the kingdom and feel no fear, no hunger, no longing for a kinder, gentler life. He would simply be absorbed into the dark space around the moon. Or he would become a star, or a breath of wind, chasing eagerly across the treetops and up to the cold of the mountain. What must it be like at the very top, icy and alone? 

Credence shivered. What did the wolves do when it was cold? Hide in a den somewhere, probably, safe with the rest of their pack. 

Or maybe they wandered and stared at the moon just like he did, wishing they were someone else.

“Well, isn’t this dreary,” said a haughty, unfamiliar voice from the corner of his room, and Credence’s whole body flinched. 

He scrambled up from his kneeling position on the floor, adrenaline shooting through his veins.

“What a sad little room in a dank little church. But you are by far the dreariest thing here,” drawled the intruder, and Credence’s mind went blank with panic.

There was a man in his room. The door had been closed, and he’d heard no footsteps, and yet there was nonetheless a _man in his room_ , a strange man with white-blonde hair and a smug, sharp smile, cloaked in some sort of deep shadowy robe. His eyes were mismatched shades of blue, and they shone unnaturally bright in Credence’s small bedroom, glowing like the stars. 

Like witchcraft.

Credence stumbled backward, slamming into the wall in his haste to get away, knocking his shoulder against the doorjamb, scrabbling to get out. But the handle wouldn’t turn, no matter how hard he tried to wrench it.

“Oh, do I frighten you, boy?” the man laughed. His teeth were very white and straight, his skin perfectly smooth, ageless and pale. “Well, well, maybe you have more sense than I thought. But you can’t be very bright if you think your pitiful attempts to open that door are going to work.” He sounded bored. “It’s sealed with magic, you halfwit.”

Credence froze, breathing hard, his fist still gripping the handle. 

Trying not to let his hands shake, he let go of the door and turned slowly to face the man, his injured palm stinging as he clenched both hands into fists. Strangely, the pain helped him concentrate, to take in details he had missed before. There was a faint sour odor in the room, like milk that had sat out for too long, and the man’s pale fingers were toying with a slender length of wood, with carvings spaced down its length like clusters of berries. He tilted his head under Credence’s scrutiny, his lips twisted into a joyless smile. 

“Well?” the man said impatiently. “Are you mute?” He swirled his robe dramatically with one hand. “Haven’t you got any words of welcome for your very important guest?”

“Are you…” Credence swallowed around a thick lump of fear, narrowing his eyes. “Are you the Wizard of the Waste?” he managed, his voice shaking just barely.

“No, I’m the king of the faeries,” the stranger replied sarcastically. “Yes, you moron, obviously. Merlin’s beard, you are a bit dim aren’t you?” Abruptly, he strode forward, backing Credence against the wall and staring intently into his face. “Why did Newton take an interest in you, then, hmm? Nothing special as far as I can tell,” he mumbled, inexplicably sniffing Credence’s hair. Trembling, Credence tried to sidle away, but found that he couldn’t move, every muscle frozen in place by a force beyond his control.

“Well, it wasn’t for your clever banter, was it?” the man drawled. “I suppose that dull silence has its appeal, if you want someone to do your bidding without question. But why _you?_ Why not some pretty thing with a spark of power whose heart went pitter-pat when dear Newton walked by? Seems much more logical to me than an underfed boy with a lack of charisma and no particular talent.”

Credence swallowed hard. Did the wizard expect him to answer that? 

Unbidden, the image of Newt’s beautiful smile swam before Credence’s mind’s eye, the way he’d squeezed his shoulder before he disappeared. Did Newt charm all sorts of young girls with that smile? Was it true that he ate out their hearts? Credence couldn’t believe it, though, not when Newt had gone out of his way to be so kind and considerate. 

“I… I don’t know…” he stammered. Despite how afraid he was, Credence realized he was blushing.

The Wizard of the Waste was watching him intently. “Ah, how quaint,” he said snidely. “You’ve got a bit of a crush.” He laughed, though it came out more scornful than amused. “Well. Probably eager to please, aren’t you? Must be fun for him to bask in the attention; I guess that explains why he’s toying with you, although he’s definitely wasting his time. Not so much as a whiff of power.” 

Now he sounded disappointed. None of this was making much sense.

“It is a shame,” the man sighed. “I came all this way hoping you’d at least have a morsel of magic. Enough for a midnight snack.” He trailed a finger idly over Credence’s chest, stopping right over his pounding heart. “But here you are, about as juicy as a prune. All dry and empty and boring.”

Credence stared at him in confused terror.

“Oh!” the wizard said, brightening up. “Oh, that’s _good_ , I can’t believe I didn’t think of that sooner,” he said gleefully. “Prune indeed. I can make you even more miserable than you already are, and throw a wrench in Newt’s fun at the same time. I can’t possibly just let you _go_ , you see, that’s not my style at all. And I’ve got to salvage some form of entertainment out of this terribly dreary visit.” He made a face of mock-politeness. “Surely you understand.”

There was panic fluttering helplessly in Credence’s chest, along with the desperate desire to flee, but he couldn’t move so much as an inch. Frantically, he began to pray, his mind flashing uselessly back to Modesty’s question yesterday afternoon. If a wizard was about to eat your heart, would praying protect you? “God, please, help me,” he muttered frantically. “Please. He can’t have my heart.”

“Oh, stop whining, you simpleton, I don’t want your meager little heart. Newton’s, on the other hand… well, that is a different matter.” Credence grimaced as the wizard’s sour breath ruffled against his cheek. “Now shut up, I’m trying to concentrate.” 

And then the man tapped his wand just under Credence’s ear, and it was as if a sort of greasy film was sliding over his whole body, pouring along his skin. Credence gasped for breath, trying unsuccessfully to twist away from the sensation, still frozen in the grip of the wizard’s magic.

“There we go,” he purred. “Very nice. Quite amusing. And the best part is, you can’t tell anybody about it! Built right into the curse. Hilarious, don’t you think?” 

The Wizard of the Waste stepped back, and Credence stared at him in fearful incomprehension. 

“Alright, well, not hilarious for you. Hilarious for me, I mean,” the man conceded smugly. He gathered his cloak around himself, giving one last self-congratulatory nod. “Have fun with that. See if he looks twice at you now, church boy. Wish I could stay and watch this all unfold, but I’ve got bigger fish to fry. Nighty-night.”

He gripped his wand tighter, and Credence suddenly realized he could move again. But before he could do anything - call for help, throw a punch, run at the pale man – the wizard was gone, vanished just as suddenly as Newt had, with just as little warning. 

The silence of the room was jarring after the anxious terror of the last few moments. There was a ringing in his ears, and Credence blinked against suddenly heavy eyelids.

What had that spell done? What was wrong with him? He had to… try and… figure out…

But there was an unnatural wave of exhaustion creeping over him, preventing him from investigating further. Credence managed to stagger two steps toward the bed before the room spun, his vision blurring to a weary smudge of shadow and moonlight. Somehow, he managed to grope his way to the bed, blinking rapidly, his head stuffed with cotton and his limbs as heavy as four sacks of flour. Then the pillow was under his cheek, his body half-sprawled over the blanket, and it took all of his remaining conscious energy to lug his feet up off the floor. His boots were still on, but he was sinking too rapidly under the tide of sleep to muster even an ounce of care.

 

There were no dreams that night, just deep dark repose. But perhaps that was for the best, considering what was to come the next morning.

Credence was awakened by Chastity screaming, Ma’s footsteps pounding up the stairs while his sister looked down at him in horror.

“Who are you?” Chastity asked, voice choked and eyes wide. “How did you get in here?”

Credence stumbled from the bed, his body feeling oddly stiff and ungainly - wrong. There were aches in his back and his hips, and his legs felt as sore as if he’d walked twenty miles the day before. He blinked the sleep from his eyes, feeling his joints pop loudly as he tried to straighten his stiff spine, staring at her in confusion.

“What do you mean, Chas?” he croaked, at the same moment that Ma threw the door open, Modesty cowering behind her. A split-second later, Credence was busily groping at his throat in a panic. That… that wasn’t his voice, rough and gravelly and hoarse. And that wasn’t his neck either. He knew what his neck was supposed to feel like, smooth skin and the rasp of stubble. Instead, he found weathered wrinkles hanging from his jaw and cheeks, his hands clutching at his face in disbelief.

Terrified, he turned and caught a glimpse of himself in the tiny mirror above the sink.

Oh. 

Oh _no_ , no no… He remembered now. The Wizard of the Waste, the wand, the spell, the greasy sensation. He was _cursed_ , hunched with age, his face a road map of wrinkles.

“What is this? Who are you, a burglar, making off with my son’s clothes?” Ma looked coolly furious, her eyes narrowed. “Girls, where is your brother?”

But Chastity was busy gaping at Credence, her eyes widening with understanding. She was staring at the familiar cut of his hair, the shape of his eyes, his clothes, and when Credence pulled his hands away from his face, sore palm cracked and scabbed from Ma’s beating last night, she gasped suddenly. Chastity had always been smart. 

“He’s…” she began, looking bewildered and upset. “But he’s…”

The words were floating out there. _He’s right here_. But she looked too afraid to say them, and Credence could understand why. This was not good. If Ma knew that he’d been cursed by a wizard, that he had been touched by dark magic, she would surely do her best to purge it from him with all the vigor she could muster. 

And he didn’t know if he would survive the attempt.

“He left at midnight,” Credence rasped impulsively, his mind racing, grateful for Chastity’s silence. “Ran away from home, headed for the next kingdom over. Paid me a coin to lay here and maintain the illusion so nobody would be the wiser until the morning.” 

It was all he could think of, to explain the clothes and the strangeness of finding him inside the locked church, with no sign of forced entry. But it still hurt to say it, knowing that Ma would never welcome him back now.

“What?” Modesty cried, and Credence’s heart wrenched. “But he wouldn’t do that! He wouldn’t just run off without… without saying goodbye.”

No. No, he wouldn’t, not if he’d had any choice in the matter.

Ma’s lips thinned, her face flushed a pale red. “It seems that he would, Modesty. And he has. He is lost to us, my dear son is lost to heaven.” 

For a moment she looked truly saddened, and Credence felt an unexpected pinch of guilt and pity. But then, her face hardened once more, and she became the same dark-eyed stranger who had whipped him last night until he bled. 

“That ungrateful child has left us; his selfish sinful nature was incurable in the end, foul and unnatural just like the harlot who birthed him. I swore when I took him in that I would stamp that corruption right out, but I see now he was always beyond help, even from the beginning. Do not follow his example, girls, not ever. Forget him,” she ordered, “hold no affection for him in your hearts.” 

Well, then. There went his last lingering bit of desire to find a way to soften the blow for her. He’d be better served by beginning the frightful task of finding his way in the world in his new unknown body. 

“I’ll just be going, then, ma’am,” he croaked, feeling as if he were about to leap off a cliff without knowing if there was water below. What on earth was he going to do now, with nowhere to live and no way to make money? But he obviously couldn’t stay here.

She glared at him for a moment, perhaps deciding whether he bore any guilt in Credence’s flight, her penetrating gaze for once, it seemed, unable to glean anything from his expression. “I suppose he promised you the clothes, then,” she said sourly, “and the boots.”

“He did,” Credence confirmed hurriedly. “I paid him for them.” Lord, please let her not decide to send him on his way without any clothes on his back. 

Fortunately, she only frowned. “Very well. They would fetch little value in the market anyway. You may as well have his coat, too, since he didn’t take it with him when he scurried off like a rat.”

Credence was a little bit shocked at her generosity, and it must’ve shown on his face, because she visibly softened, leading him over to the hook by the door with a hand on his elbow. “Whatever that boy may have told you, we are God-fearing, honest folk. I teach all my children the virtue of charity. Now, I expect you are hungry. Let us give you some breakfast, and we can read the bible together. Are you a church-going man?”

Oh, dear. No, no, he knew exactly how long a discussion that would be, and every extra minute he spent in this house was extremely dangerous. 

“Ma’am, you are too kind, but I’m afraid my stomach doesn’t handle breakfast well. I really must go to the doctor’s this morning, in fact. I’m feeling terribly ill. Nasty sickness. Wouldn’t want to infect the little ones,” he rasped, waving a hand at Chastity and Modesty.

Ma immediately let go of his elbow, a faint bit of disgust showing on her face. Ailments were relatively uncommon in the kingdom, but Ma had always been particularly afraid of them. “Ah. Well, in that case, we will pray for your full recovery.” 

That seemed to have done the trick. His welcome, it appeared, had run out, and she wasted no more time on pleasantries. It was supremely surreal to follow Ma’s careful footsteps down the narrow stairs to the kitchen and then shuffle past her pointing arm right out the door. He turned stiffly on the steps outside, hoping for one last glance of his sisters, some opportunity to say a sadly cryptic goodbye, but the door snapped shut before he had even opened his mouth.

This was it, then. 

Oh, lord, what was he going to do? Credence shook himself, blinking rapidly at the helpless feeling of being unmoored, cut loose in one unexplainable night from everything that tethered him to the life he knew. For a moment he was sure this was just a bad dream. He used to be terrified all the time as a boy that Ma would turn him out on the street for not finishing his chores, his sleep disrupted by nightmares that she was going to lock him out of the church and refuse to let him in again. 

But this was no dream. This was really happening. And one thing was for sure, he wasn’t going to get anywhere by standing around on Ma’s doorstep. 

He shuffled out toward the road, trying to look on the bright side. At least he was an adult, unlike the frightened helpless child he’d been when he’d had all those nightmares. A very _mature_ adult, by the looks of his reflection in the neighbor’s muddy water-trough.

My goodness! He looked as old as the Queen’s eldest councilor, well into his twilight years. His face was weathered and spotted by the sun, his familiar features sagged and distorted, his hair pure white. Credence rubbed his gnarled hands together in dismay, turning away from the water. Well, there was nothing he could do about it right now. And at least his eyesight still seemed to be pretty good. And he had all of his teeth.

Come along, now, he told himself. Doing _something_ is better than sitting around here and panicking. Perhaps he could go down to the market square, see if inspiration struck him with a solution. 

 

That turned out to be easier said than done. 

The sun rose slowly as Credence made his stiff way down the hill, his joints sending up a raucous chorus of complaint, his legs sore and stumbling. The road was steep, and his knees were aching by the time he was less than halfway down. 

Good lord, was this what all of his elderly neighbors had to deal with every time they left their houses? They really ought to be commended for their perseverance. Huffing and puffing, Credence finally shuffled his way down the last stretch of hill to where the cobbled street evened out, breathing a sigh of relief as he leaned against the corner of a house and rested his legs. The stiffness was probably worse today because he’d walked so much the day previous, he thought, clinging tightly to the last shreds of his optimism. Chin up! Surely tomorrow will be better.

But first he had to make it until tomorrow. And that meant figuring out where to go now. 

The square seemed like the place to start, if only because it gave him a sort of ingrained comfort to follow his usual routine. If Credence were still Credence, he would be heading to the market right now to buy potatoes and barley for the thin soup they’d be eating tonight, seasoned with whichever herbs and vegetables he could find cheapest and sprinkled with a pinch of their precious salt. 

But that routine was lost to him, along with his coin purse, still tucked inside his satchel where it hung in the kitchen, locked inside the church all the way back up the hill. It might as well have been on the moon, for all the hope he had of ever reclaiming it.

No, for the time being, Credence would have to forge ahead without any resources at all. He had no money. And nothing of value to pawn. And he also had nowhere he needed to be, no task he was expected to perform. Nobody glared at him as he walked by or turned their nose up at his pamphlets. 

Ha! He would never have to hand out another pamphlet again. At least there was that.

“Good morning, grandpa,” said a well-dressed man as he walked past, shepherding his children out of the way of Credence’s more laborious strides so as not to impede his progress.

“How polite, thank you,” he replied, nodding to the kids, who stared at him shyly before hurrying away after their father. 

There were some musicians playing by the fountain, a talented girl on the violin and a boy playing accordion, and Credence sat himself creakily in the shade of the Queen’s statue to watch them, reveling in the novelty of being able to listen to them play without Ma yanking him away. He could even have _danced_ to their music if he wanted to. Well, if his legs had been up for it. 

He had _never_ experienced this before, this… leisure. The sun warmed the low stone plinth of the statue under his legs as the morning ticked by, Credence taking deep breaths and marveling at this newfound freedom. There were all manner of people walking by, and for once he had the time to watch all of them. Children ran laughing among the stalls, tugging their parents toward toys or sweetmeats they wanted to buy. Credence thought he spotted the little boy he’d given the rosemary to, dashing about after his big sisters with their long dark braids. There was somebody flying a kite over in the far corner of the square, a large orange fluttering thing with ribbons, standing out cheerily against the clear blue of the sky.

There was a well-groomed man in a long dark coat, striding importantly through the crowd, his handsome face set in a slight frown. For no particular reason, something about him made Credence’s neck prickle, produced a tiny twinge of unease. He looked like the sort of man that wouldn’t tolerate any sort of disorderly conduct, who might not like to see an old beggar hanging around the square. A group of royal guards marched in the man’s wake, following him with stiff obedience, the bronze clasps on their uniforms gleaming in the sun. Credence gulped, shifting further back into the shadow of the Queen’s statue. 

Luckily, however, the man and his soldiers didn’t pay him any attention. With one last look around the market, they passed the last few booths and made their way smoothly to the edge of the square and up, up, up the steps to the palace, the important man’s elegant coat rippling in the wind. Credence wondered, not for the first time, how many stairs that must be, and what the view might be like from all the way up there in the grand courtyard at the top, outside the regal blue doors. Ma had never let him accompany her on her trips to the palace, and he’d always been curious to see it for himself. 

Someday, he thought firmly, he would climb those stairs. Someday, after he got this curse off him, he would climb all the way to the top.

But not today. Not when his energy was limited, and he would be better served by trying to secure some rations and a place to sleep for the night. He had better make his move now, or else he might not get another chance to beg for what he needed.

Oh, to have _food_.

Credence was well-acquainted with hunger, but it never got any easier to withstand the pangs. His stomach was growling loudly, proclaiming its empty dissatisfaction. He hadn’t even had time for breakfast before he left the church, and now after his climb down the hill he was nearly desperate for something to eat. There was no shortage of mouth-watering smells coming from the market, no lack of food to be had. But eating it, _paying_ for it, was going to be a problem. He was going to have to rely on someone’s generosity, or else… 

Well, he could steal something. But the very idea was distasteful to him, filling him with a dull sense of panic. No, even desperate as he was, it seemed that some of Ma’s teachings had sunk in too deep to be cast off. They had become part of his soul, as she had surely meant them to, and now he clung to them even though it meant accepting that some part of him was still listening to her, still believed she’d gotten a few things right. 

Here he was, transformed in body, cast out of his home, rapidly losing hold of his life and his identity. How else did he know he was still himself? No other piece of him was left that he could recognize, other than the secure knowledge that he was a moral person, honest and unselfish, someone who wished no harm on others and did not seek to gain by anybody else’s loss.

No, there would be no stealing. At least not today. If he were on death’s door, his resolve might be tested differently, but first he would try the gentler way. Asking for help.

“Excuse me, miss,” Credence began croakily, faced with the same woman from the bakery who had sold him a loaf of bread two days ago. Blinking away the surreal sweep of memory, Credence summoned a polite smile. “Do you happen to have any loaves that are burnt or ruined? I’m afraid I’ve got no coin today, but I’d be most grateful for anything you’ve got that won’t sell.”

She narrowed her eyes at him thoughtfully. “Well, alright, I can pop in back to check, but all my loaves better still be out here when I come out.”

“Of course,” he said fervently, “I do appreciate it. I won’t touch anything.”

When she re-emerged from the tent in back of her stall, he was disappointed to see just one small blackened bun in her hand, rock-hard and unappetizing. He took it with a smile and a murmur of thanks nevertheless, noting the way her eyes tracked over the loaves on display, verifying that nothing had been stolen. She looked on him with a bit more sympathy afterward. “Sorry, but that’s all I’ve got. There were a couple of other hungry mouths here earlier, barely older than children. I gave them most of the lot.”

“I completely understand,” he murmured, and moved along with a grateful nod. Really, how could he begrudge her that? 

Better luck at the next booth, perhaps.

Credence shuffled on, making his respectful inquiry at the next stall, but the greengrocer behind the counter had very little to spare either. Credence ducked his head courteously and hobbled onward, working from booth to booth down one side of the market, asking each vendor for any scraps that wouldn’t sell. 

By the end of it he was not all that much better off than when he’d started. He had the blackened bun, a couple shriveled carrots, and an apple that had gone bruised and mushy on one side. 

Mmm. 

Still, it was better than nothing. He stowed his salvaged meal in the pockets of his coat, resigning himself to repeating the process on the other side of the square, already dreading the looks of pity he would receive, or worse, glances of disgust and contempt. Nevertheless, it had to be done. 

Steeling himself, he walked across the market to the first tent at the far end, surprised to find that he recognized the delicious pastries on display, along with the genial baker behind the table, his easy smile stretching under his dark mustache.

“Morning, grandpa!” the man, Jacob, said cheerily. “Can I interest you in something sweet or savory today?”

Credence, feeling slightly miserable at the idea of throwing himself on the man’s generosity for the second day in a row, opened his mouth to speak. But another voice beat him to it.

“He’ll have one of the new potato-chicken pies, honey,” said a woman with glossy blonde curls, emerging quickly from the back of the booth, her hands on her apron-covered hips. She looked vaguely familiar, maybe from one of Ma’s sermons. “And it’ll be free of charge,” she added, a dimple creasing her cheek as she smiled. “I insist.”

Credence stared at her in astonishment, his heart soaring with relief. Had… had she guessed that he had no money? “Thank you,” he breathed, his throat feeling a bit tight.

“It’s our pleasure,” the woman said, oddly solemn, resting her hand on her husband’s arm. Jacob glanced at her in what seemed to be a silent question, but she was still looking at Credence, her smile edged with concern. “Hey, you come let us know if there’s anything else we can do for you, okay? Anything you need.”

What a strange and wonderful offer! Credence blinked, a little overwhelmed. “I will do that, ma’am. Thank you kindly.”

The paper-wrapped pie was warm and heavy in his hands, his heart fluttering with relief. A _hot meal_! Oh, and it smelled so nice. Credence tucked the bundle of food into his pocket, so thankful his knees felt weak. He had never known people like this existed, people who would be so generous to a complete stranger and ask for no favors in return. 

He wished he had more to offer them than an ardent murmur of thanks, but aside from that he had a vast abundance of nothing.

The blonde woman watched him carefully as he ducked his head in appreciation once more and shuffled away back toward the fountain, hoping that maybe his luck had just changed.

Maybe things would be alright now, and he would work out what to do next. 

The food would help him think.

 

Some time later, however, Credence had to admit he was at a loss as to his next move. He considered trying to ask around for a job, but he was hardly robust enough for manual labor and had no marketable talents. Who would want to hire him? Ma hadn’t seen fit to let him study a trade, nor had she taught him any skills outside of how to read the bible and help write her sermons, so unless someone needed a… a pastor, he was out of work. And the idea of following in Ma’s footsteps tasted impossibly sour.

What was he going to do? Where on earth did someone go, when they were old and tired and had no friends or family to take them in? He supposed he could ask the kind bakers if they had a spare room he might stay in, but the thought of burdening them further without payment made him cringe with shame. But it wasn’t as if he had many other options. 

Well, perhaps the bakers could be his last resort, if he couldn’t think of anything else.

His stomach grumbled longingly as he finished the first half of the pie, forcing himself to chew slowly and savor every bite, stopping before he was full so that he could save the rest for supper. The flavors of the pastry were just as wonderfully rich as they had been before, perfectly seasoned with the herbs Jacob had gotten from the hills.

Credence blinked. 

The hills.

 _The hills_ , where supposedly the wizards lived. Not that there was necessarily any truth to that rumor, but what if… what if he could find Newt again, ask him to do magic, set the curse to rights! He would be cured, it would all be fixed, he could be –

No, wait, of course not. Hadn’t the Wizard of the Waste told him that he wouldn’t be able to tell anybody about the curse? Even Newt wouldn’t be able to help him if he didn’t know what the problem was. 

Experimentally, Credence opened his mouth and tried to say the words ‘I’ve been cursed,’ but it was as if his tongue had grown a mind of its own and refused to follow his command. No sound came out, just a horrible sort of choking as his lips twisted out of his control, unable to form coherent speech. It took a few moments of sputtering and gasping before Credence’s mouth relaxed again, rubbing his gnarled fingers over his face in frustration.

Well. Not trying that again.

But there was a chance, wasn’t there? Just a slight glimmer of hope that if he found the right wizard, they might somehow notice the spell on their own and the curse might be lifted. Maybe he could even track down the Wizard of the Waste and beg him to take it off! Well, no, that probably wasn’t a good idea. He doubted that the man would listen, and he’d probably end up turned into a toad just for asking. 

But at least this was a start, a direction to go in. If he could get out into the hills, he could look for a wizard and hope to find a cure. He might be able to forage for some food, too, up among the trees. If wild herbs grew there plentifully, there were bound to be some other sorts of edible plants, right? 

Credence was neither a farmer nor an experienced woodsman, but he clung to optimism like a raft in a storm. He would be okay. It would all turn out okay. He just needed to find a wizard, and keep himself fed in the meantime.

There were farmers up there, he thought, on the lowest hills nearest the town. One of them would surely have room in their cart for a bony old man on the way back home from the market. The ride wouldn’t get him all the way to the foot of the mountain, but it would save his legs for a while.

The sun inched further across the sky as Credence made his inquiries among the farmers, and sure enough, by the time the shadows were lengthening into afternoon he was settled comfortably on top of a bale of hay in the back of a wagon bound for the foothills. The wheels jostled over the cobblestones as the wagon climbed steadily up out of the valley, the city behind him shrinking until it resembled a patchwork quilt of bright rooftops stitched together with tiny streets. 

Credence looked back over his shoulder, filled with anxious nostalgia at the diminishing sight of the clock tower, the market square, the docks, the road up to the church. Oh, lord, the _church_ , where his sisters were probably worrying what had become of him. 

Credence pulled his coat tighter around himself and tried not to despair.

The familiar landmarks looked strange from out here, tiny and insignificant, slipping further and further from his reach. And then the wagon crested a hill and the city disappeared from sight completely, leaving only the tiny spires of the palace visible with the Queen’s flag rippling in the breeze. 

Oh, merciful heaven. He’d never been this far out of the city before, not ever, not that he could remember. That was his entire world, and he’d just left it behind.

The air was fresh, growing cooler as they rode onward. Night was still hours away, but the lowering sun painted the hillside in a deep gold, a reminder that Credence would most likely be sleeping rough tonight in whichever leafy hollow he could find that kept out the most wind. Unless he could find a wizard by then.

Eventually the cart reached the end of the marked road, little more than a narrow strip of dirt that led up to a weathered signpost. There was a footpath, or a vague impression of one, that went onward, up past the farms and out into the windswept heath beyond. 

“You sure you want to keep going that way, grandpa?” one of the farmers asked doubtfully, as Credence heaved himself creakily down from the wagon. “There’s nothing up there but wild forest and barren meadow, and any number of unfriendly creatures.” He frowned, concerned. 

“Yes, thank you,” Credence croaked, doing his best to sound more confident than he was. “I’m sure.”

He had already gotten this far. He wasn’t going to turn back now.

Setting his jaw in determination, Credence began his trek, pushing past the ache in his legs as he started up the hill. 

He made steady progress, though he had to pause every so often to gasp for breath and massage the stitch in his side. He supposed he ought to be grateful that he was already accustomed to a great deal of walking, and although his body had aged it had not lost all of its stamina. His muscles burned and his lungs tightened, and still he went on, stubbornness building a fire in his chest that fueled him on like one of the city’s fancy new steam-powered trolleys, _chug-chug-chugg_ ing up the path.

About an hour into his trek, his stubbornness had only increased, but his legs were getting awfully tired. What he really needed, he thought pragmatically, was a walking stick. That would make things just a bit easier, something to grip with so he could pull himself upward with his arms as well as his legs. He panted, wiping the sweat from his eyes, scanning for any likely prospects in the tangle of underbrush alongside the path. The trail so far had led him straight toward the top of the nearest hill, passing by clumps of trees and low thickets of berry bushes. Credence had stopped to fill his stomach and his handkerchief with as many berries as could fit, and he could still taste their tangy sweetness on his tongue. 

Ah. That next copse of rowan trees looked like it had several long windfall branches lying on the ground, one of which might do for a walking pole.

Credence pressed on with new resolve, hunching his shoulders against the wind as the grass whipped against his legs, the cold air smelling of the meadow, wild and sweet. It was almost like the dream he’d had two nights before, where he’d been walking through the misty green hills and had glimpsed a shape at the base of the mountain. A dark shape, large and strange, out there all alone.

Credence shivered in the wind.

Surely there was no truth to his dream, no chance that he would actually see such a thing out here. But what did he know about what lived in the wild country? There had to be wizards here somewhere, and who knew what monstrous shapes they could take if they chose to. The silhouette in his dream had been massive, large as a house, groaning its way slowly through the fog like a fly through molasses. What sort of creature moved like that?

He was nearing the cluster of trees now, branches swaying above the lush green tangle of the bushes, and Credence sought about until he found a smooth, sturdy rowan branch that was an excellent height for a walking stick, hefting it in his hand with some satisfaction. He was just snapping off the twigs from its sides when the back of his neck prickled.

Very suddenly, he felt absolutely sure that he was being watched.

There was a rustle from the bank of foliage nearby that didn’t seem to correspond with any wind, a subtle quiver of leaves and a sigh of movement. Credence gripped his new walking stick with hands that shook slightly. 

“Who’s there?” he called out firmly. The bushes made no answer.

“I mean you no harm, I’m just an old traveler,” he said creakily, peering intently at the shadows under the leaves. “Please, you can come out. I’m… I’m looking for someone, you see. Anyone, really. I need a place to spend the night, and if there is anywhere you can direct me to, I’d be much obliged.”

There was another rustle, louder this time, and Credence thought he saw the gleam of a pair of eyes, some sort of shape crouched beneath the bush. 

“Hello there,” he called again, keeping his tone light and friendly. Still, the person, or creature, whatever it was, stayed hidden. 

Goodness, that really could be any number of wild beasts, couldn’t it? And here he was talking to it like a nitwit. Still, it didn’t hurt to be polite, and there was something about speaking aloud that was helping to keep his panic at bay.

Changing tactics, Credence decided perhaps it was best not to anger it by pressing any further. “I can see you down there, but I suppose perhaps you don’t want to come out,” he said. “I do apologize for disturbing you.”

He began to turn, slightly nervous, in order to sidle away. 

Out of the corner of his eye, however, he saw a dark shape detach itself from the bushes and dart closer. 

Startled, he whipped around again to stare over his shoulder. “Hello?” he wheezed, heart pounding.

But he could see nothing. Whatever it was, the creature was hiding again, concealed behind another clump of bushes. He could just see the tip of something that might’ve been a tail, sticking out from behind the foliage.

“So you are coming with me, then?” he called out, trying to imagine that he was completely unafraid. “Well, I welcome your company, so long as you are peaceable. I have to warn you, though, I don’t actually know where I’m going.” Feeling a bit like he’d gone mad, Credence turned away and took a few more steps. The beast, behind him, mirrored his movement, darting between hiding spots, ducking out of sight again when he looked behind. 

Well, he thought somewhat hysterically, either it’s just as frightened of me as I am of it, or it is planning to pounce and eat me. Let us assume the former, for I have no way of preventing the latter.

And so he went on. He kept up a steady stream of commentary as he walked, pretending he was talking to someone friendly and kind, his breath puffing out short bursts as the hill grew steeper and the trees thinner, the path climbing the last mile to the meadow at the very top.

“Got to find someplace to stay for the night, you see,” he huffed. “Not sure anybody but me is crazy enough to come out here, though. Well, you’re here, of course, not that I’m implying you’re crazy. We’ll just have to see what we find. I figure at the top of this hill we’ll take a breather and have some supper, how does that sound?”

Credence looked over his shoulder absently as he spoke, only to freeze, his heart hammering in his throat. 

Oh. 

There were no more bushes to hide behind up here near the top of the hill, and his walking companion finally seemed willing to show itself. 

“Well, hello,” Credence said, his voice a bit squeaky. 

That was a _wolf_ , staring at him with solemn dark eyes and a wary hunch to its shoulders. It was enormous, lean and rangy and hungry-looking, its ribs visible under ragged fur. Oh, good lord, did it want to eat him? 

“Almost there, now,” he said, forcing himself to sound cheerful. The wolf made no move to get closer to him, remaining at a cautious distance until Credence tentatively began to climb again. The wolf climbed too, a dark blur in the corner of his eye, only moving when Credence’s back was turned and then waiting motionless when he turned to look fully.

“You know, this reminds me of a children’s game I used to see played in the square,” he commented, not mentioning the fact that he used to wish he could play too. Ma would never allow it, of course. “Everyone starts at one end of the square, and there’s someone standing by the statue in the center. When that person is looking, nobody can move, but as soon as they turn away, you try and sneak closer. If they see you moving, you must go back and start over, and the first person to make it close enough to tap them on the shoulder wins.” 

It had always looked like a lot of fun, though out here on the hill being stalked by a wolf, the game took on a great deal of more sinister potential.

The top of the hill was close now, and Credence forced himself to stop turning to look over his shoulder. If the wolf hadn’t struck by now, it had to have a good reason, right? Maybe it was a friendly… um, beast. A domesticated familiar that belonged to a kindly wizard, perhaps?

Right. The creature was out here starving, all alone. It didn’t seem likely.

Bracing himself for the feeling of teeth on his neck, hot breath on his skin, Credence couldn’t help but lengthen his strides, amazed that his knees no longer seemed to hurt so much. The top was so near, just… up… a little more. The cold air burned wonderfully in his lungs, exhilaration humming in his chest as Credence finally reached the top of the hill and turned around. 

The valley was breathtaking, deep and clear, the palace spires tiny from this distance. 

And the wolf was right behind him, so close he could hear it breathing, less than two paces away. It was motionless again, as if it had frozen when it saw him beginning to look. Like it was playing the game. 

But that was impossible.

“You almost caught up to me, huh?” If he didn’t know better, Credence would’ve thought the wolf understood him, and was watching him with dark, intelligent eyes. Completely ridiculous, to imagine an animal understanding human speech. 

But then again, here was Credence under a wizard’s curse. Who knew what the limits were in this new magical reality?

The wolf was still staring at him. “Did you want to finish the game?” Credence asked nervously. “Alright, I’ll count it as a win if you tap my leg with your nose.” 

There was only one way to find out for sure. Feeling a bit shaky, Credence turned around, faced now with the magnificent view of the mountain looming closer than he’d ever seen, its pristine glacier painted gold by the evening sun. There were still several more rolling foothills between where he was and the lowest snow-covered slope, where the trees ended and the craggy rock began, covered with swathes of gleaming white.

Something bumped lightly against Credence’s leg, and he barely managed to hold in an instinctive shriek.

He looked down at the wolf, its intelligent brown eyes watching him carefully. 

“Sweet lord in heaven, you really do understand me, don’t you?” Credence breathed shakily. “Goodness, I learn more about the world every waking moment.” The wolf didn’t reply, of course, just continued to stare at him solemnly, its ragged tail tucked neatly around its massive paws.

Well. The creature was very polite, for such a fearsome-looking predator. And it had made no move to hurt him.

He decided to assume, in the interest of reducing the number of things he was worrying about right now, that the wolf was friendly. Credence, of all people, had no reason to judge based on appearances. It was an intelligent creature, with good manners, and it seemed possible to reason with it. Perhaps all it was after was some company and a share of Credence’s supper. He certainly had worked up an appetite with all this climbing.

Alright, then, no need to fuss. Just sharing a meal with a wolf. With a faint incredulous laugh and a wheezing groan, Credence sat himself down on the ground, pulling the remainder of the pie from his pocket. It was only polite to share, of course.

“Want some?” he asked, breaking off a chunk of the now-cold pie, making sure there was a nice big piece of chicken inside. “It’s quite good, I promise.” The wolf stared at him for a second, then darted forward, its long teeth delicately plucking the food from Credence’s hand and gulping it down ravenously, dark eyes immediately fixating on the rest of the pie in Credence’s lap. Sitting this close, he could see the animal’s ribs even more clearly, standing out pitifully in its lean sides. Even so, it made no attempt to take the food from him, nor did it try to threaten him at all. It looked… resigned, motionless, its shoulder blades sticking up in sharp points from the dark fur of its back.

It was making Credence terribly sad. 

Sighing, he stared at the pie for a moment before breaking the rest of it into chunks and holding it all out for the wolf to take. Surprisingly, the creature seemed to hesitate.

“Oh, go on,” Credence said, “You look like you need it more than I do.” He had his carrots, and the burnt bun, the berries and the mushy apple, at least. Better than nothing, which is what it looked like the wolf had been eating for quite some time now.

It was the work of a few moments for the animal to devour the rest of the pie, a long pink tongue coming out to lick the last bit of butter from Credence’s fingertips. It might’ve been his imagination, but his hands looked a bit less gnarled than they had started out this morning. The wolf sniffed closer, nosing at the scabbed-over welts on his palm, before looking up at him in something that might have been concern if the creature had had a human face to express such things.

“Don’t worry about that,” Credence said softly. “It’s in the past.” Very slowly, he allowed his fingertips to brush against the matted fur of the wolf’s shoulder. “At least I can be thankful for that. No matter what happens now, I don’t have to go back home to her.”

The wolf said nothing, simply fixed its dark eyes on Credence and allowed him to tentatively pat its bony back. Seated as they were side by side, it felt almost like having a friend, an ally, someone looking out for him. 

The feeling was like a tiny warm spark of hope, in the midst of all this frightening chaos.

 

They stayed there for a while, Credence doing his best to eat the salvageable parts of his donated produce. 

He ultimately threw the burnt roll away after biting into it produced nothing but a mouthful of char; even the wolf turned up his nose at it, so Credence tossed it off the hill into the bushes. The carrots were fine, just a bit shriveled and oddly-shaped, and Credence carefully bit around the ruined part of the apple, savoring the sweet juice even if the flesh was slightly mealy. The core and the rest of the ruined fruit were tossed after the burnt bun, and then the last of the berries were carefully plucked out of his handkerchief and devoured. 

And then there was nothing for it but to press on again.

“Come along, wolf, I know we are both hungry and cold, but we ought to keep looking for shelter while we’ve got the light.” 

It was far more pleasant going, actually, now that Credence had a large dark shape darting along beside him, especially because their path was now leading down the far side of the hill instead of upward. The wolf seemed to have abandoned his sneaking game and instead trod through the grass next to the trail, never straying far from Credence. The sun had dipped low enough that it was becoming harder to see the path, the grey-blue light fading from the meadow. Credence shivered, pulling his coat tighter around him, a faint sound catching at his ears.

There was a noise on the wind, unless his hearing was simply playing tricks on him, a creaking and groaning like the timbers of a ship. The sound was strangely familiar, like an echo of a memory, like something he’d heard before, just like…

Just like the noise he had heard in his _dream_! Now how was that possible?

“Do you know what’s making that sound?” Credence asked excitedly. 

The wolf’s furry ears perked up for a moment, and then it simply looked at him. 

“Right,” Credence sighed, deflating, “you can understand me, but I can’t understand you. That’s going to be a bit tricky.” He plodded on, as fast as his stiff legs would go, listening every so often for the creaking sound and hurrying toward it, the sun fading and the night getting colder.

“Oh dear,” he said, trying to shake sensation back into his hands and feet. “This is much colder than the church at night. We had no heating, but at least there was no wind. This wind, it cuts right through you.”

The noise was getting louder, accompanied by an odd clanking like metal machinery. The light was almost gone, but below them in the small plateau between two rolling hills he thought he could see a large dark shape, massive in the gloom, with one little pinprick of yellow glowing like a candle in the night.

That was _it!_ That was what he’d seen in his dream! But what _was_ it?

“Oh look! We’ve done it! Not too much further now, wolf, if we head straight for that light,” he declared breathlessly, pointing down at the cheery dot. “I’m not sure what it is, but I’m praying it is going to turn out to be friendly shelter,” Credence murmured fervently. He stumbled slightly over an uneven patch of ground, accidentally catching himself on the wolf’s back. “Oh, sorry about that. Your eyes are probably better than mine in the dark. Can’t see my hand in front of my face anymore.”

Suddenly, there was a wet nose pressed against his wrist, and Credence almost jerked his hand away instinctively. A moment later, however, gentle teeth took hold of his sleeve, tugging him slightly to the left.

“Oh,” he breathed. “Thank you. Good idea.”

They made their fumbling way down the rest of the hill, Credence using his walking stick to try and feel ahead for rocks, his boots swishing through the long grass. They had left the path behind, he was pretty sure, not that he could see it; it would’ve been any help until the moon rose higher, anyway. He was trusting the wolf completely now, staggering blindly in the wake of the persistent tug on his sleeve, staring at that little pinprick of light as it got closer.

Very slowly, he started to make out the shape of a tiny window in the distance, a rectangle of glowing yellow. That was the source of the light. A _building_.

And the building was making the creaking sound, it seemed. The noise was getting louder the nearer they got, a sort of inhale-exhale of steam and machinery and wood, like the building was alive. Breathing. Credence stared in wonder as the shape gradually solidified, moonlight finally filtering down to paint the grass a pale unearthly blue and glinting off the oddly-shaped roof of a…

“What _is_ that? Some sort of walking house? Look at that, it’s got legs!”

The massive shape was, in fact, moving across the hillside on squat mechanical legs, its clanking and groaning produced by each unwieldy step. The structure itself was an odd cobbled-together mishmash of wood and metal and tile, as if a handsome little cottage had been crossbred with one of the Queen’s navy ships and then given bird feet. The result was somewhat ridiculous, but somehow also quite astonishingly magical, and the tempting light glowing from inside the window drew the two of them closer like moths to a flame.

“Oh, it looks warm in there,” Credence said wistfully. “Come on, wolf, let’s look for a way in!”

It was fortunate that the structure wasn’t moving any faster, otherwise Credence didn’t know if he would’ve made it. With the last of his energy, he dragged himself closer, feeling as though every last cell in his body had been sapped of strength by the long day’s exertions. The wolf tugged him onward, urging him toward a low platform with a door, just visible in the gloom, protruding down between the mechanical feet.

“What an unusual building,” he wheezed. The platform with the door looked like a small porch, with an iron railing along the side, and it was bobbing up and down with the slow rolling gait of the walking house. After a couple of fumbles, Credence finally managed to get a good grip on the metal rail and yank himself up, panting, onto the reassuringly solid surface, his walking stick landing next to him with a clatter.

“Oh, thank goodness,” he croaked. “We did it!” 

A moment later, however, he shouted in alarm, clutching the railing tighter. The house had given a lurch, a loud clank, and then begun to move faster, striding quickly along the hillside, the porch vibrating and shifting with each mechanical step.

“Oh, no, hurry, hurry,” Credence called.

The wolf was running behind the building, trying to keep up. It raced onward, panting hard, but made no move to jump up after Credence.

“Please, don’t give up,” he cried, “You can do it if I can. Look, it’s not that high.”

The wolf’s sides were heaving, tongue lolling and its head hanging low. How much energy could it possibly have after starving for so long? Credence hated the idea of leaving it alone out here in the cold, especially after it had helped him find this place when he surely would never have made it on his own.

“Come on,” he said again, more firmly. “I’m not going inside until you get up here. I know you’re tired, but I’ve got faith in you.” The wolf lifted its head slightly, picking up the pace of its loping strides. “That’s it! You can do it! Imagine there’s another pie up here, all for you.”

Finally, the wolf put on an extra burst of speed and landed in a skittering of claws on the porch next to Credence, who wrapped his arms around it automatically in triumphant relief.

“Yes!” he cried. “Oh, well done.”

The wolf’s fur was bristly under his fingers, its eyes a warm amber brown. Credence hugged his new friend tightly, his hands a bit shaky. “I’m so glad you made it,” he murmured. He really didn’t think he would’ve had the heart to leave the wolf behind. Tiredly, the creature pressed its nose against Credence’s wrist, still panting hard, and Credence smoothed a hand over the thick fur of its shoulder. 

“What do you think?” he whispered. “After all that, will we even be able to get inside?” 

The wolf looked at him solemnly, tongue lolling.

“You’re right,” Credence said. “No use thinking negatively. Let’s give it a try.”

He straightened up with a tired groan, leaning heavily on his walking stick. The wolf watched as he tried the door handle. “Unlocked,” he murmured. “Well, perhaps we have some luck left tonight.”

Tentatively, he crept inside.

On the other side of the handsome wooden door was a small staircase leading up into a room lit by the cozy glow of a banked fire, warm and smelling pleasantly of pine and cedar. Credence lugged himself heavily up the first two steps, looking back at the wolf still sitting in the doorway. Its back was hunched guardedly, something doubtful in its dark eyes.

“Come along, wolf,” Credence coaxed gently. “It’s much nicer in here than out there. And we don’t want to leave the door hanging open, do we?”

The creature looked at him with longing, then glanced over its shoulder at the hillside rushing by below them. Credence held his breath.

Slowly, the wolf slunk its way up to Credence, the fur on its neck ruffled and its eyes darting. The door snapped shut of its own accord the moment its long dark tail was inside, and the two of them both startled at the sound.

“Well,” whispered Credence, “I certainly hope this is a friendly place.” The wolf stayed close against his legs as Credence crept up the rest of the stairs and looked around at the contents of the room. 

They were in a comfortable little space with a wide brick fireplace, a dining table, and a staircase leading further into the house. Strangely, everything was perfectly still, despite the outside motion of the building’s lumbering gait. There was a double-sink against the far wall, and what might’ve been quite a nice oven, although it was filthy with dust and looked like it was hardly ever used. The sink was piled high with dirty dishes, an absolute mountain of them creeping out onto the kitchen counter. 

“A bit of a mess, isn’t it,” Credence commented to the wolf, wrinkling his nose. “Who lives here, some sort of slob?”

“Oi!” said a voice, coming from somewhere above the mantel. 

Credence jumped, clutching his walking stick, and the wolf flinched, pressing Credence away from the noise.

There was a painting up there, above the fire, a detailed stretched canvas of some sort of nymph in the woods, her long green hair curling about her face. But who had spoken?

“It’s not very nice to insult your host, you know, particularly when you are an uninvited guest,” the voice went on. 

Credence blinked his bleary eyes and wondered if he had finally gone mad, or if he had fallen asleep on the hillside and was already dreaming. He could’ve sworn the voice was coming _from the painting_. 

“Who are you, anyway?” asked whoever was speaking. “And why’d you go bringing that big hairy beast in here?”

No, it was definitely not Credence’s eyes playing tricks on him. The nymph in the picture was _moving_. She came closer to the frame, her hair rippling like water and her small painted face frowning as she looked down at Credence and the wolf. 

“That wolf is dangerous,” the nymph said plainly. “He has the look of one of the Wizard of the Waste’s spy creatures. You’re gonna lead that slimeball right to us!”

A talking painting. Well, what next?

“No, I’m not,” Credence said shakily. “I would never lead the Wizard of the Waste here, I hate him. And my friend doesn’t mean any harm either. We’re just travelers looking for shelter. Please, I don’t know who owns this place, but we desperately need somewhere warm to sleep. In the morning, I can pay you back somehow, maybe by washing those dishes.”

The nymph sputtered, fixing him with an incredulous stare. “You don’t _know_ who owns this castle? The _moving_ castle, the only one of its kind in these parts? What, so you just stumbled across it on a… a pleasure hike through the deserted hills at night?” she said sarcastically, “And with a mangy he-wolf, no less? Yeah, pull the other one.”

Actually, her sardonic description was not too far off. Credence wasn’t sure whether telling her so would help his case, though; she didn’t seem like she’d be particularly inclined to believe his story. He couldn’t quite believe any of this himself, actually, it was far too surreal - the curse last night, leaving the church this morning, making his way here to this strange place. And now here he was, considering how best to _argue with a painting_. It was all a little overwhelming.

Instead, he turned and looked at the wolf for reassurance. The creature stared back at him, silent as usual. “Are you a he?” Credence asked quietly. “It seemed impolite to ask, when you couldn’t answer, but it also feels disrespectful to keep referring to you as ‘it’ in my head.”

“Oh, he’s a man, alright,” interrupted the nymph, now inexplicably amused. “I can tell.” The wolf turned his dark eyes on the painting, giving her a long look. “Oh, wow, you two are quite the pair. Well, if you don’t work for the Wizard of the Waste, I guess you can stay. The door wouldn’t have let you in if you had bad intentions anyway.”

Credence let out a gusting breath of relief, putting a companionable hand on the wolf’s shoulder. “Well why didn’t you say so in the first place?” he asked tiredly. “We could’ve been sleeping already.” He didn’t think he could keep his eyes open much longer. 

He cast around the room for something to use as a pillow, spotting a few cushions on the soft rug by the fire. The floor would have to do for a bed, though his back would probably not thank him for it in the morning. He was too tired to even think about climbing those stairs right now to find any other room to sleep in.

“Just to be sure,” the painting said, while Credence hobbled closer. “You _really_ don’t know who owns this castle?”

“No idea,” Credence mumbled, yawning. “I just got lucky and stumbled across it.”

“Well, that can’t be right,” she replied. “You shouldn’t have been able to see it unless you knew it was here, or someone pointed it out to you. The privacy and misdirection spells usually take care of that. But you two look harmless enough, I guess. Both been in contact with some nasty spellwork, huh? I can see you've got… What are you doing? Are you going to… oh, alright, fine,” she sighed, “make yourself comfortable.”

“Thank you, I will,” Credence said exhaustedly, too bone-weary to pay much attention to what she was saying. With some shuffling and groaning, he managed to arrange himself on the thick rug by the fire, the warmth radiating from the coals lightly caressing his face, the pillow soft under his head and an extra cushion under his back. “Oh,” he sighed, “That’s nice. It has been a long day.” 

The wolf had watched him creakily recline on his meager bedding, tilting his furry head, and now he quietly approached, paws clicking on the wood floor. 

“I’ll bet you’re tired too, aren't you?” asked Credence, beckoning him over. “Come on, then, it’s warmest right over here.” He patted the hearth rug, in the cozy spot between him and the fire, and the wolf came closer, sniffing his fingers before silently easing himself down, a furry wall of heat.

“There we go,” Credence murmured drowsily, allowing himself the familiarity of settling a hand into the dark fur on the wolf’s back, inching closer and smelling wind and dirt and heather. “I apologize if I snore,” he muttered. “Not sure if I do or not.” 

He half expected the nymph to have some sort of snide comment to offer in reply, but the room was quiet, punctuated by the sound of the fire crackling and the logs popping, the tension slowly releasing from the wolf’s body under Credence’s hand, his breaths growing slow and deep. 

“G’night, wolf,” he whispered, the last of his awareness fading.

And then, Credence was off to exhausted sleep, surrendering to the arms of unconsciousness with the trusting optimism of one who has no energy left to worry about what would happen tomorrow. 

After all, it couldn’t start off worse than today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo hoo!  
> I'm hoping the description of the castle wasn't too confusing - I'm picturing something a little different from the movie (if you've seen it), more of a ship with legs. There will be more explanation for why that is in the next few chapters :D
> 
> Also, to any and all of you working on finals, best of luck with the end of the school year. Fanfic is a good study break, isn't it? ;)


	3. The Castle

Credence woke the next morning to a poke in the arm.

“Chastity,” he grumbled, “Okay, I’ll be up in a minute.” 

He’d been dreaming something strange, slightly alarming and yet achingly wonderful. There had been paintings that spoke and castles that walked, and all sorts of other magical things. And right now he was comfortable and warm, his face pressed against something soft that smelled like wind and grass, lulled by the rhythm of it moving up and down under his cheek.

Hang on. His pillow didn’t usually _move_. 

Credence’s eyes snapped open and he was faced with a brick fireplace, his view partially blocked by the black fur of the wolf’s back. 

Merciful heaven. Not a dream, then. 

He sat bolt upright, grimacing when his spine immediately twinged, stiff and sore from sleeping on the floor. “Ooh,” he groaned, stretching his back until it popped and cracked, some of the stiffness easing with a good twist. The wolf was asleep next to him, curled endearingly with his head on his paws, and the fire was still burning steadily even though no extra wood seemed to have been added during the night. How had it stayed lit?

“Magic,” Credence said softly. Obviously. The painted nymph was smirking at him from her picture frame, likely amused at his naivety, and the room was bathed by a glow of sunshine coming through the small open window.

And there was a little girl staring at him in shock, her finger still outstretched from where she had poked him in the shoulder.

“Good morning,” he said politely, reaching for his walking stick and struggling to his feet. The wolf stirred, his ears perking up, and lifted his shaggy head to look at Credence. “And to you too,” Credence added. “I hope you slept well.”

The girl was still staring at both of them, her eyes wide. “Um. Good morning,” she said. “Where did you come from? Are you guests?”

She looked about nine or ten, a little older than Modesty, and she was eyeing the wolf with some trepidation. 

“Ah. No, not guests precisely. My name is Credence and I’m the new housekeeper,” he improvised rapidly. “I’m here to save you from that monstrous pile of dishes over there, and then I can make breakfast if you’ve got ingredients.”

Credence watched the girl’s trepidation turn into excitement, a cautious smile inching across her face. “Breakfast? Really? Do you know how to make pancakes? With applesauce? My dad always makes them with applesauce.”

“Oh, that sounds wonderful,” Credence said creakily. “If I can find the stovetop under all this mess, I will do my best.” He had only made pancakes a few times before, when they could spare the money for eggs and milk, a rare luxury. But it had been easy enough, as far as he could recall. And applesauce was dead simple, provided he could find a saucepan somewhere in the chaos of the kitchen. Good lord, it really was going to take him a while to make a dent in all of this washing up.

“Okay!” the girl chirped excitedly. “I’m Miriam, but you can call me Mira. I can dry the dishes, if you want. At home it’s always my job to dry the plates in the kitchen.”

“I appreciate the offer,” Credence said, “but perhaps you ought to go ahead and have your breakfast, Miss Mira. These dishes may take all morning, and I wouldn’t want you to go hungry. I promise there will be pancakes later on.”

“Okay!” she exclaimed again. “I know where the bread is for toast, that’s usually what Aunt Tina makes when she’s in a hurry. I can make some for you too! What does your dog like to eat?”

At that, the nymph laughed uproariously in her frame. “Oh, Mira,” she chortled, “that mangy furball is no _dog_.”

Credence sent her a disapproving look before turning back to the little girl. “That’s very kind of you to ask, thank you. I would appreciate some toast, although I’m not sure what my friend would like. He’s actually a wolf, you see, and I don’t know all that much about his preferences. He likes chicken pot pie, so far.”

The wolf heaved himself all the way up off the floor, yawning and stretching his long spine, and Mira gasped at the sight of his heavy jaws lined with intimidatingly sharp white teeth. “A _wolf!_ But… isn’t he dangerous? He’s a wild animal, and he can’t help it that he has wild instincts.” She sounded as if she were quoting somebody. “Creatures are not pets, no matter how fascinating they are, except for domesticated ones like dogs and cats.”

“Very true,” Credence said softly, impressed. “He is not a pet, and I am not his owner. He has his own mind. But I don’t think he’s just a normal wild animal either. He’s far too smart to be a regular wolf.”

“Really,” said the nymph dryly. “Meet a lot of wolves, do you?”

“No, I don’t, but I think you know what I mean,” Credence shot back. “He’s been very polite and he doesn’t even bite or growl, and he probably saved my life last night, so I think he’s more than proven he’s a good sort. But when your aunt gets up, if she really wants us to leave, we will. In the meantime, I’m starting the dishes.”

With that, Credence matter-of-factly rolled up his sleeves and shuffled bravely over to the messy kitchen. It was wonderful how being old made it easier to speak one’s mind.

“I don’t think Aunt Tina will want you to leave,” chirped Mira. “She loves pancakes. But not as much as she loves cinnamon sugar-rolls. My dad makes them every year for her birthday, and they are _so good…_ ”

The girl kept up a running commentary as Credence managed to shift dishes out of the sink and fill it with soapy water, locating an untouched scrub brush tucked in the back of one of the cabinets. Hmmph. Clearly, the owner of this castle, Tina whoever-she-was, wasn’t big on washing up. The running water worked perfectly, which baffled him for a moment because the taps couldn’t possibly be connected to any sort of pipeline, considering the fact the castle was _moving_. 

Right, of course. 

Magic.

“… and Mom’s always saying that Aunt Tina should learn to cook more for herself, but she eats at our house so often that she doesn’t feel like she needs to. Mom makes the best strudel in the world, and Dad likes to make kołaczki and all kinds of pastries…”

The girl was a chatterbox. It was wonderful, actually, to listen to the stream of her happy words as Credence slogged his way through the dishes, entertained by her description of her family’s affectionate squabbling and their efforts to avoid feeding too much rich food to their cats. It distracted him from the stinging of his still-sore palm, the scabbed welts tender and achy. He tried his best to keep them out of the water and do most of the scrubbing with his other hand, accustomed to washing dishes this way from years of intermittent practice.

“… but I don’t think they’ll ever stop begging Dad for scraps in the kitchen, no matter how much Mom scolds him for indulging them. Hey, the cats like chicken pot pie too, just like your wolf! My dad has just been making lots of pie for his bakery. What’s your wolf’s name, Mister Credence?”

Credence turned, wide-eyed, to look at her over his shoulder, something tickling in the back of his mind. She looked a little bit familiar, those big happy brown eyes and the dimple in her cheek when she smiled. Distracted, he tried to think up an answer to her question.

“Ah… Actually, I don’t know what his name is. I’ve just been calling him ‘wolf,’ but I suppose he might prefer something more personalized. What sort of name do you think he should have?” he asked, watching her set five thick pieces of toast on a plate at the cluttered table.

“Ooh,” she exclaimed, hurrying over and kneeling next to the wolf, staring deep into his eyes. The beast stared back at her calmly. “Hmm. I’m good at naming creatures. Uncle Newt lets me name all his animals too.”

Credence abruptly lost his grip on the mug he was toweling dry, and it fell with a splash back into the sink. 

Uncle _Newt?_

“I think… maybe Steve,” she declared. Despite his lack of eyebrows, the wolf somehow managed to look highly unimpressed. “Or Melvin. Unless maybe he’s a Hank.”

“Hmm,” Credence said politely, trying to hide his instinctive disappointment. There was nothing especially wrong with any of those names, it was just that they didn’t suit the wolf in the least. They were all so… ordinary. And human, and a little bit too… well... too _boring_. The wolf was wild and solemn and mysterious, and Credence thought his name ought to reflect that. And he had a strange, illogical tickling feeling that they were starting with the wrong letter.

“What about something that begins with G?” he asked impulsively.

The nymph in the painting raised her eyebrows at him.

“Names starting with G?” Mira asked. “Let’s see… George, Gerald… oh, I know! _Gilderoy!_ Oh, it’s perfect!”

The wolf just looked offended now, his ears flattened and his shoulders hunched.

“I don’t know, Mira,” Credence said gently. “I’m just not sure he likes any of those.” He thought for a moment, racking his brain for something suitable. “What about Grimm?” he asked finally. “I read a story once about a wolf, in a traveling bookseller’s booth at the market. I think that was the author’s name.” The book had been old and stained, but it had beautiful hand-drawn illustrations, and Credence had had time to hungrily devour four whole fairy tales before Ma found him, her eyes furious. “It… wasn’t a happy story, and it painted the wolf in a negative light. But he was clever, and patient, and very formidable. And I thought maybe…”

The wolf’s claws clicked against the floor as he made his way over to Credence, nudging his nose against Credence’s leg the same way he’d done the previous day as part of their game. A confirmation.

“Sorry Mira, I think he wants that one. Your names were very nice, too,” Credence said kindly. The nymph in the painting on the wall let out a noise that might’ve been a muffled snort.

Mira seemed entirely unbothered, dimple flashing in her cheek as he went back to setting the table. “Oh, that’s alright! Grimm is a good name. Like the omen, a big black dog! And I get to name Uncle Newt’s new swooping evil later this morning when he gets done giving her a healing potion. I’m thinking of calling her Annabelle,” she announced delightedly. Quite a few of those words didn’t make any sense to Credence, but her enthusiasm was infectious. Whatever a… ‘swooping evil’ was, she sure seemed excited about it. 

“That… sounds lovely,” Credence replied tentatively. “What sort of a creature is that?”

“Oh, they’re fascinating!” Mira enthused. “And very pretty. Blue and green and shiny. They curl up so small you can hardly see them, and then _whoosh!_ ” She was flapping her arms in an imitation of wings.

Credence, still confused, made a vague noise of interest.

The nymph let out a dry laugh. “Mira, you’re neglecting to mention the best part,” she said impishly. “They eat _brains_. They’re skilled predators, highly dangerous, with the ability to move so fast you can’t see them coming and enough momentum to crack your skull. You still sure you want to stay here, Credence?”

He swallowed hard, staring at the painting, not sure if she was having a joke at his expense.

“Ariel, don’t scare him away!” Mira said insistently. “Credence, don’t worry. Annabelle would never hurt you. She’s very smart, just like your wolf, and Newt knows what he’s doing. He’s training her not to attack anybody unless she’s hungry or in danger, and he always keeps her plenty well fed. There’s no reason for her to go after you.”

“That’s… good,” Credence said weakly. So, not a joke, then. This creature really did eat brains. How on earth did Newt keep it well fed? On second thought, he didn’t really want to know.

“The other beasts are just as reasonable,” Mira went on. “They don’t hurt Newt, because he is careful and kind and gives them exactly what they need to be comfortable.”

Credence blinked. “The other beasts? There are more… um, more…”

“Oh, yes, lots!” Mira chirped. “The castle is full of creatures. They don’t usually come downstairs, but you’ll definitely get to see them all later. I get to help feed them and learn all about how they live!”

“Sounds thrilling,” he murmured faintly.

“You alright there, Credence?” Ariel asked. She propped her mahogany-brown chin on one small hand. “It’s not too late to back out,” she said, her expression growing more serious. “I’m not trying to scare you off, but you’d best be warned that staying in this castle will hardly be relaxing or calm. If it’s a quiet life you want, this is probably not it.” 

Credence gazed back at her for a moment, indecisive. Was a quiet life even appealing now? He’d had plenty of experience living in the quiet. He’d spent years of silent boredom never straying from his rigid routine, holding in his curiosity, his frustration, his pain. And he was sick of it.

“That’s just fine,” he said firmly. “I’m not looking for a place of retirement, or a place to stagnate; I’m looking for a _job_. And I will handle any chaos that comes along with it.” And why not? He was a new man, with a new life. There was a delicate thrill in embracing the unknown, in finding courage even in unfamiliar territory. On an _adventure_. He looked down at Grimm. “What do you think? Does staying here sound alright to you?”

The wolf stared up at him, dark soulful eyes unblinking.

Ariel was smirking slightly. “Oh, I think he’d live anywhere as long as it was with you. Looks like you’ve won him over already.” She tilted her head. “That’s a very loyal friend you’ve got there.”

“Really? You want to stick with me?” Credence asked the wolf happily. Grimm slowly pressed his nose against his knee. “Well, I guess it’s settled, then. As long as your Aunt Tina doesn’t mind us, we’re staying.”

Mira whooped and pulled a pat of butter out of the cold box. 

“Alright,” Ariel said with a small grin. “This should be interesting.”

“Welcome to the castle!” Mira crowed, busy fishing in a disorganized drawer of cutlery. She straightened up, butter knife in hand, and gave him a sunny grin. “I can’t wait to show you around!”

“Well, thank you, that’s very kind,” Credence responded politely. “I’m much obliged.” He scrubbed a little harder at a stubborn stain on one of the plates. “I… I hope you don’t mind me asking, but why exactly do you call this a castle?”

“What do you mean?” Mira asked distractedly, skipping over to the table to try and shove some of the mess out of the way. 

Ariel had narrowed her eyes at him, frowning. “Yes, Credence, what exactly do you mean?” 

“Um. Only that… it is lovely, no question,” Credence went on hurriedly. “But… I was given to understand that… Well, the word ‘castle’ conjures up a very different picture in my mind. Not that I’ve ever been inside one before. So, really, I don’t know why I assumed… I… This is perfectly nice.” And it was, for a house or a ship or a… whatever this was.

Ariel’s expression had not softened. “It’s _very_ nice,” she said firmly. Her green hair billowed around her face as she squinted at him. “The nicest. And it is a castle because we say it is a castle. I don’t know what you’ve been hearing, but a castle means comfort, and magic, and walls that move, and libraries with lots of books, and old secrets, and the occasional rampaging creature hidden behind a mysterious door. All of which we’ve got in spades.”

“Right,” Credence said, nodding quickly. “I see now. Of course, that’s quite right.”

Ariel looked mostly appeased, but after that Credence thought it best to keep quiet for a while, focusing on working his way through the last stack of dishes. 

A few moments later, Mira finished darting around the table. “The toast is ready, so I’m gonna go wake up Aunt Tina!” she declared brightly, disappearing upstairs in a clatter of footsteps. 

The dishes were nearly done by the time a sleepy-eyed woman with dark hair appeared, following behind Mira with a long piece of wood in her hand. She stared in surprise at the empty kitchen counter, her mouth falling open as she took in the freshly scrubbed tiles on the wall and the neat cupboards full of clean dishes. Credence was just putting the last few plates away when the ache in his hand grew suddenly sharper, one of his scabs cracking with the movement and beginning to bleed. Oh dear, and he’d gotten blood on the towel too.

“Wow,” breathed the woman, Tina, her eyes widening. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen this kitchen so clean before. I mean, Newt’s wonderful in many ways, but he’s terrible at keeping up with the washing. Typical bachelor. It’s kind of infuriating, actually. Never imagined he’d have the forethought to hire a housekeeper instead, but here you are! It’s a pleasant surprise.”

Credence blinked, nodding woodenly, unsure what to say. Tina’s words were the final proof that the castle did _not_ in fact appear to belong to her, but to Newt. Wizard Newt, who apparently collected dangerous creatures and kept them well-fed (with _brains_ ) and saw no harm in allowing them to roam about his castle. Credence gulped, suddenly feeling a bit apprehensive about meeting the man again. He was a stranger, after all, a mystery. Newt had been very polite the other night, but… he had also indirectly caused Credence to be cursed, sending him home with only a sprig of rosemary to protect him from a world he didn’t yet understand. 

And the Wizard of the Waste had said that Newt had only shown an interest in Credence because he wanted someone to do his bidding without question, and that he could’ve just as easily have chosen any pretty thing with a spark of power. Those words had cut sharply, even though Credence knew better than to take anything that man said at face value. What did he really know about Newt, or what he was after?

Credence was distracted from his musings by Grimm nosing at his hand, which was still bleeding. Credence grimaced in dismay.

“Oh, my goodness, what happened there? Did you cut yourself on one of the kitchen knives? Here, let me take care of that for you.” Tina was coming closer, brandishing her wooden stick, and Credence flinched reflexively. The last time someone had pointed one of those at him, he’d woken up six decades older than he ought to be.

“Um,” he managed, feeling a bit trapped.

“Don’t worry,” she said softly, slowing her movements. “It won’t hurt. I know what I’m doing.” Mira was peering around her aunt’s side, curious and concerned.

Tina gently took his hand, smoothing the tip of her magic wand over his palm, and Credence watched in dazed astonishment as the skin stitched itself back together, smoothing back into seamless, uninjured flesh.

“Oh,” he breathed. “Thank you.”

Her eyes were thoughtful. “That wasn’t from a kitchen knife.” It didn’t sound like a question, so Credence didn’t know if he ought to provide an answer. 

He was saved from the awkward silence following her words by a sudden thumping on the stairs, a worn pair of brown leather boots appearing first and then a rapidly moving whirl of blue and green and white that resolved itself into the familiar figure of Newt, clad in his shirtsleeves, with a falconer’s glove on his right arm and some sort of green and blue creature perched on his wrist. It had great bat-like wings, light and delicate, and its face was bony and strange.

“Annabelle!” exclaimed Mira happily, her eyes lighting up.

Newt’s attention was on her immediately, beaming, but his glowing smile cut off abruptly when he saw the wolf, still pressed against Credence’s legs, sitting a scarce foot and a half away from Mira and Tina. Newt scrambled in his pocket for a breathless moment, and then his wand was in his hand, pointed squarely at the wolf’s furry dark head, Tina yanking Mira out of the way.

“Newt, what…” Tina spluttered.

“Did you let them in?” he asked urgently, his green eyes tracking over Credence now, who was doing his best to shield the wolf with his body. Newt showed no sign of recognizing Credence from two days before, no flicker of recognition. But, of course, Credence looked completely different now. Oh lord, had this all had been a terrible mistake? Was Newt going to feed them to his beasts?

“No, I thought you had invited them,” Tina responded immediately. “They were both down here when I woke up, Mira said he was your new housekeeper.”

At this pronouncement, Newt’s panicked features relaxed into honest confusion. “What?”

“Ariel said we could stay, last night,” Credence blurted, feeling as though he ought to defend himself. “So I thought I’d make myself useful, clean things up.” He gestured at the sparkling kitchen behind him. “I don’t want to be a bother.”

“Oh, thanks,” drawled the nymph, “blame it on me. Newt, the door let them in, and I took pity. What can I say, the old man looked real tired. And he did do a nice job with the dishes.”

The wizard seemed taken aback, the creature on his arm letting out a short whistle as they all stared at each other.

“And the wolf, Ariel?” Newt’s question was careful and tight. “The wards on the door let the wolf inside, too?”

“Yep,” the painting replied, rolling her eyes. “Come on, I’m not an idiot. I know not to allow any spies inside. Apparently this one’s clean.”

Newt relaxed fractionally at that, but Tina was frowning. “You’re having trouble with spies? From the Wizard of the Waste? I thought this was the safest place to be, that he hadn’t found a way to track you out here.” Her voice was quiet and upset.

The man sighed, slowly lowering his wand. He looked very tired all of a sudden. “It’s still secure in many ways,” he breathed out. “The meadow is bright enough to keep his shadow-sendings away; they can’t walk in the light of the sun or the stars. And I help the plants do their part, of course, keeping the air too clean for his foul lungs. But it seems he’s found a way to send new agents to spy for him.” His eyes were sad and grave. “Mountain wolves, possessed by his will, controlled by his magic. They can roam anywhere they like up here, always watching, gathering information to bring back to him. And… doing more than watching. I had to thicken the wards after a pack caught me unawares last week and nearly dragged me off.”

“Oh _Newt_ , why didn’t you say anything?” Tina sounded horrified.

“I know, I know, I was going to mention it this morning. The new wards are working, for now, but…” he turned to Mira. “If it gets any worse, we’ll have to consider sending you back home, darling. Your parents would want you completely safe, and so do I.”

“But we’ve only just gotten started!” exclaimed Mira. “Uncle Newt, you’re so clever, you’ll figure out a way to keep them from coming here, I know you will. They can’t get inside the castle, can they?”

“Of course not,” said the nymph on the wall smugly. “I would squash them first.”

“Yes, thank you, Ariel,” Newt said dryly, while Credence blinked in confusion. How could a painting squash anything? “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. We are well defended, and we have no reason to be worried yet. And, since it seems we are in the company of friendly guests, I ought to apologize for jumping to conclusions,” the wizard went on, nodding politely to Credence and Grimm. 

“Oh! It’s not a problem,” said Credence hurriedly, glancing down at Grimm’s observant eyes. “It sounds like you had good reason for being cautious. I can’t speak for him, but I don’t think you need to apologize. He probably appreciates your vigilance.” There was a rushing feeling of relief washing through him, the adrenaline draining away to be replaced by rueful humor. Newt was nobody to be afraid of. He wasn’t the sort to feed anybody to his beasts! 

“Well, I appreciate your understanding.” The wizard smiled softly, shifting the green and blue creature on his arm, his curious gaze flickering over Credence again and catching on the cupboards behind him. “Merlin’s beard! You really have done a marvelous job of cleaning up in here. I’m terribly sorry about the embarrassing state of it before.” He shuffled his feet, endearingly awkward. “I can only partially blame it on being busy all the time and hopeless at cleaning charms. The rest is just me being scatter-brained. If you’re really interested in a job, you’d be welcome to stay as long as you like.”

Oh, those words were music to Credence’s ears. He could stay. He could _stay_ , and have a roof over his head, a job and a purpose. “I will. Thank you,” Credence managed breathlessly. He couldn’t quite believe that this was working out just as he’d hoped. He was safe. He was going to be alright, warm and dry and well fed. 

And Ariel said there was a _library_. 

He could look for a way to break his curse.

But first, breakfast. “Mister Credence was gonna make pancakes!” piped up Mira, bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet. “With _applesauce_ ,” she added significantly, squeezing Tina’s hand. The now-dry toast seemed to be completely forgotten.

“Well, then we should make sure we’re washed up and ready to eat by the time he’s finished, huh?” Tina smiled down at her niece. “How about you and Newt go put Annabelle in her new habitat, and I’ll clear the table.” Her suggestion was met with immediate enthusiasm, the girl bounding up the stairs with Newt grinning in her wake. “And wash your hands!” Tina hollered.

Chuckling, she went about tidying up the haphazardly stacked papers and books creeping across the dining surface, moving them to a shelf on the other side of the room. Credence could feel her thoughtful eyes tracking over him as he located the ingredients he needed in the cold box and started whisking the pancake batter together in a bowl. The first few cakes were already sizzling on the griddle pan when she finally spoke.

“I’m sorry, I’m just curious,” she said, not sounding sorry in the least. “If you weren’t hired on as a housekeeper until just now, and you weren’t given directions to get here, how on earth did you find the castle? A person has to already know it’s here to even be able to see it,” she added shrewdly.

Credence remembered Ariel saying much the same thing. “I’m not really sure,” he admitted, hurriedly flipping a pancake before it got too brown on the bottom. “I’ve never left the city before, but yesterday I… well, I had nowhere else to go for help. I rode a farmer’s cart out of the valley and walked up into the hills, figuring I’d-”

Oh. But he couldn’t get the next words out. _Figuring I’d find a wizard to help me with my curse_. Instead his tongue curled up and his lips twisted, causing him to spend a moment sputtering and gasping for breath.

“Are you alright?” Tina said, looking worried, brandishing her wand. “ _Anapneo_.”

Credence’s throat opened and his breathing cleared at once, though his tongue still refused to speak the words he’d been trying to say. “Thank you,” he croaked instead, panting.

“Of course,” Tina replied. “I’m glad that worked. I wasn’t sure what you were choking on.” She looked perplexed.

Helplessly, Credence ducked his head. “Just a frog in my throat,” he replied in defeat. “Anyway, last night I was up here in the hills and I needed somewhere to shelter for the night, and the castle was suddenly right there in the valley below me. I wouldn’t have made it all the way without Grimm to guide my footsteps in the dark, though. I’d probably still be lying out there with a twisted ankle, freezing.” 

Actually, he didn’t particularly want to consider just what might’ve happened if he hadn’t found wolf or the castle; that possibility painted a bleak picture indeed. Grimm was currently lying in a large furry black ball in the corner of the kitchen space, as close to Credence as he could get without being underfoot. His ears twitched slightly at the mention of his name, and Credence met his dark eyes with a small, grateful smile.

“Huh,” said Tina, heading over to the counter to help Credence start peeling some apples. “So you didn’t use any magic at all to get here?”

Now it was his turn to stare at her. “No,” he said. “I… I don’t know how to do any. I probably can’t, I’ve never been able to do magic in my life.” 

Her expression was curious, assessing. “But you could see the castle plainly, as you approached? It didn’t even… flicker?”

“Um.” What a bizarre question. “No, it don’t think so. But, I mean, it was dark. I could only see the light from the window at first, but I could hear it, the noise it makes, that sort of creaking and groaning. The wind must’ve carried the sound far enough to help guide me. It’s strange, I guess I could hear it all the way from the city because I’ve been having dreams that… um.” He realized abruptly how odd this was sounding. “I’ve dreamt of coming out here and seeing a shape in the distance, the castle, only I didn’t know that’s what it was. Just that there was something… something I wanted to find.”

Tina looked fascinated. “You had dreams?” she asked intently. “Dreams that showed you how to get here?”

“Well, only vague hints, but… yes, I suppose so,” Credence replied slowly. Without the dreams, after all, he probably wouldn’t have been so sure that coming out here was a good idea.

In her picture frame on the wall, Ariel seemed intrigued. “Now _that’s_ interesting. Sounds almost like an intuitive gift. Do you get the occasional urge out of nowhere, the odd instinct to do something that ends up being important?”

Credence stared at her. 

Well, yes. He got strange urges all the time, but he’d never thought of them as some sort of _gift_. More often than not, they got him into trouble, just like wandering off in search of Newt had gotten him punished. 

But, thanks to that tug of unexplainable curiosity, he’d also _discovered magic was real_.

“Oh,” Credence said blankly. “Maybe… maybe I do.”

Ariel was grinning. “There’s a lot more to you than meets the eye, isn’t there? Intuitive magic is rare, you know.”

“Very rare,” Tina added, her words punctuated by the slither of apple peels falling onto the counter. “My sister has another kind of intuition, a knack for knowing what people are thinking,” she said. “But if you’ve got even a hint of foresight… well, that’s even more unusual than what she can do. There have only been a handful of true seers since Merlin.”

This was starting to sound impossible. Credence, a prophet? No, that was just unfathomable. Firmly, he shook his head. “The dreams must be a coincidence, then,” he replied, disappointed. “There’s nothing special about me. I’ve never had any sort of magical power, much less any visions of the future.”

“You sure about that? Magic is a funny thing, shows up differently in different people, not always noticeable at first,” Ariel said thoughtfully. “Maybe you’re a late bloomer.”

“A _very_ late bloomer,” Credence replied, his tone heavy with doubt.

Tina placed her hand on his arm gently. “It could happen, at any age,” she said politely. Of course, she was under the impression that he was in his eighties, but she seemed sincere. “If you do have some magic, it couldn’t hurt to try a few spells, if you decide you’re ready. Just to see.”

Credence stared at her, not sure what to say. Hadn’t the Wizard of the Waste told him he didn’t have even a whiff of talent? On the other hand, the man could’ve been lying. 

Was he… could he be… a wizard? Oh, how Ma would hate that.

“Maybe I will try it,” Credence replied, smiling in furtive delight. The idea was almost terrifying, it was so wonderful. “Someday. For now, these pancakes won’t cook themselves.”

Tina grinned at him and let the conversation go, and Credence turned his attention back to their cooking, making sure each of the pancakes was cooked evenly to a perfect golden brown. Ariel didn’t question him any further, and by the time Newt and Mira returned, there were four large stacks of pancakes plated on the table with a tureen of applesauce in the middle, and Tina was using her wand to heat up cold sausages for Grimm.

“I’m not nearly as good at cooking charms as my sister,” she explained wryly, “but I can manage a bit of simple thermal manipulation.” The final sausage got a little overdone, one end of it cooked to a crackling crispy brown, but Grimm didn’t seem to mind. The wolf eagerly devoured his meal, delicately taking each link between his teeth before chewing and swallowing it down.

“He eats so politely,” remarked Mira. “Mom would like him. He has good table manners.”

“I suppose he does,” said Newt, watching the animal curiously. “It looks like he’s been trained. Did you teach him to do that?” he asked Credence.

“No,” Credence replied, hurriedly swallowing a mouthful of pancake. “He was just as refined about dinner last night, and I’d only just met him.”

“Wonder what the story is there.” Newt pulled out his wand. “He could be someone’s familiar, then, smart and tidy as he is. I suppose we’d better see if there’s a tracking spell on him, just in case someone’s lost him and is wondering where he went. Maybe we can help him get back to his master!” 

At his words, however, Grimm’s ears flattened back, his body tense. Credence anxiously put a hand on his back. “Will it hurt him? Please, don’t do any magic that would hurt him.”

“Not at all,” Tina said reassuringly. “Newt would never hurt your friend, I promise. He’s just going to try and figure out where he came from.”

“Oh.” Credence nevertheless kept his hand on Grimm’s furry shoulder, meeting the wolf’s worried dark eyes. “Well, I suppose that sounds alright.” The beast watched dubiously as Newt flicked his wand.

They all watched in expectant silence. At first, nothing seemed to be happening, but then an angry red band of light appeared, winding tightly around Grimm’s throat like a choke-collar, with one bit of it hanging limply toward the ground like the tattered, gnawed-on end of a leash. 

“Merlin,” Newt said quietly, leaving his chair to kneel next to the wolf. “Oh, you poor chap. He wasn’t just being tracked, he was being caged. This was not a wizard keeping a familiar, this was something far crueler.” He grimaced, looking distraught. “Our clever fellow must have escaped, though, and broken the tie himself.” He was eyeing the frayed end of the magic rope.

Credence felt a sharp twist of emotion, a painful surge of grief and rage. Who would want to hurt Grimm?

“I can’t imagine how hard that must’ve been, unraveling the magic like that, with sheer willpower alone.” Newt was murmuring to the wolf, gently running the tip of his wand over the remnants of the glowing collar. A moment later, its tight coil dissolved from the beast’s throat, and the wolf visibly relaxed. “You must have desperately wanted to get out.” Newt brushed his fingers against the Grimm’s shoulder. 

“Well,” he said heavily, looking up at Tina, Credence, and Mira. “Now we know where he came from. But I’m certainly not going to send him back there. If I’m recognizing this style of spellwork correctly, the Wizard of the Waste was the one keeping him prisoner, no doubt planning to turn him into a mindless spy like the rest of the wolves he captured.” Newt looked back at Grimm. “But you got away, and you hid yourself well enough that he didn’t find you again, which can’t have been easy. My sympathies for what you had to endure before, my friend. He won’t reach you here, though, I can promise that.”

Grimm’s tail twitched, his earlier tension gone. Newt was still absently stroking the wolf’s shoulder, and Grimm was watching the wizard with contented, sleepy eyes.

“Where did you find him, Credence?” Mira asked quietly. “Was he running from something?”

“He was hiding,” Credence replied. “Watching me from behind a bush. At first he didn’t want to come out and show himself, but after he’d heard me talk for a while he must’ve decided I wasn’t an enemy.”

“A wise and cautious approach,” Newt said in approval, scratching Grimm’s ears, ruffling the thick fur on the back of his neck. The wolf gave him a slow unreadable look, but allowed the contact. “You’re a stealthy one, that’s for sure. The castle will be much more secure with you here.”

Based on the happy twitch of his ears, Grimm was pleased with the compliment.

 

The remainder of breakfast passed quickly after that. The food was devoured, the last pancake offered to Grimm, who inhaled it in two snapping bites.

“Well,” said Tina, as they finished clearing off the table, “I hate to say it, but I have to get going. My guard shift starts at noon, and I’ve promised to stop by the bakery first, give your parents an update on how you’re doing, little miss apprentice.”

Mira, frowning, threw her arms around her aunt’s waist. “Aw,” she said, “but you’ve only been here two days!”

“I know, sweetheart, and I had such a nice time with you. I don’t want to go, but work is important, especially right now. I’ll be back next weekend, okay? And I’ll stay with you whenever Newt has to run errands in the city again. You can show me your progress on the graphorn habitat. And I’ll want to hear all about your wand practice and your reading too.”

“Okay,” the girl mumbled, her face partially mashed into Tina’s stomach. The woman waved her wand, and a neat black suitcase came sailing down the stairs followed by a long grey coat.

“Newt,” Tina said softly. “Thank you for having me. You know you can call me out here any time if you need help, right? You let me know if Grindelwald gives you any more trouble with those wolves. I’ll come kick him back to the Waste for you.”

The wizard smiled, but his eyes were worried. “Thanks, Tina.”

She hugged him tightly, pressed a kiss to Mira’s forehead, then scooped up her briefcase and coat and stepped smartly up to the fireplace.

“Ariel, I’m headed home. You know the address.”

“Roger that,” said the nymph in the painting, and the low-banked fire was suddenly a crackling blaze, emerald green, the flames licking all the way up to the underside of the mantel. Credence watched, spellbound, as Tina stepped right into the fire, her figure visible for a split-second bathed in flickering green light before the flames disappeared, taking her with them. Gone.

“Oh my,” murmured Credence faintly.

“Yes, that’s the fastest way of getting from here to town,” Newt said brightly. “I’ll have to show you sometime, it certainly beats walking. Or riding a broom.”

Credence goggled at him, unsure if that last part had been a joke. Surely wizards didn’t really ride brooms. Did they?

“Ariel, I’m feeling like heading east for a while, what do you think?” Newt asked. “We’ll head as far from the Waste as possible. I’ve been meaning to spruce up the meadows over there, anyway.”

“Roger that, Captain,” the nymph replied. From outside the window they could hear the groaning clank of the mechanical feet picking up their pace, heading in a new direction. Credence stared at the painting in bafflement. Was she _controlling_ the castle? Ariel just smirked at him.

“Well,” Newt said, “seeing as you tackled that entire mound of dishes earlier, I think it’s only right that I pitch in with these ones.” He pulled his wand out of his pocket. “Let’s see… it’s been a while since I tried a scouring charm, and I’m afraid it might shatter them, so let’s try…” He made a long sweeping motion over their breakfast dishes sitting on the counter waiting to be washed, flicking his wrist at the end. As if lifted by an invisible hand, the plates dipped themselves one by one into the soapy water, the scrub-brush giving each one a thorough clean before they stacked themselves dry and neat in the cupboard. 

“Oh! Well, that went well,” the wizard declared. “Sometimes they just rattle at me in contempt.”

Credence was shocked speechless for a moment. “Do you mean to tell me,” he said sternly, “that all this time, you had the ability to do _that_ , and you still let those dishes pile up?”

Newt’s ears turned pink, his expression sheepish. “Ah. Yes, well… I mean, it doesn’t always work properly… the spell is rather tricky.”

“It was tricky, so you just gave up trying to do it?” Credence asked.

Newt’s flush deepened.

“Oho! He’s got you there, Captain,” pointed out Ariel gleefully from her picture frame. She sniggered. “Oh, I can already tell this is going to be _very_ entertaining. Just wait until he sees the state of the washroom.”

Newt blanched, his flush creeping higher. “Yes, er… I’ve been terribly distracted lately. Not a very good excuse, but… so it goes. The whole castle is probably due for a cleaning.”

For some reason, Credence couldn’t help but smile at that. 

“Well,” he said, “lucky for you, I’m a professional. It’ll be sparkling in no time.” Back home, they’d cleaned the church from top to bottom twice a month, and he’d scrubbed the kitchen and the bathroom every Saturday morning.

It might not be glamorous, but it was a job. A purpose. He was needed here, he could be _useful_ in this incredible, impossible castle, free from beatings and free from angry words. A bit of cleaning work was hardly a high price to pay for the opportunity to live his life on his own terms, to live in a marvelous magic house full of creatures and magic and floating dishes. Oh, and the _library_. He couldn’t wait to get started researching curses.

“Excellent! I can show you to the spare bedroom,” Newt announced, his embarrassment already forgotten and his shy smile returned. “It’s small, but it’ll be a place of your own. And your window will be looking right out at the mountain for as long as we’re going east! Up this way.”

Then the man was thumping back up the staircase, beckoning Credence, his bow tie slightly askew, Mira bouncing eagerly in his wake. 

Credence smiled so wide his cheeks ached with it, wrapping one age-spotted hand around the railing leading up into his new world.

“It sounds like it will suit me perfectly,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooray! Chapter three!
> 
> Okay, y'all, I don't know if I'm going to manage to post another chapter until I'm done with all the craziness piling up this month. If you don't hear from me for the next two weeks, it doesn't mean I've abandoned this fic, just that I've put it on hold until I've finished up with a bunch of other busy things :) In retrospect, starting to post a story at this time of year was kinda silly. But I'm so excited to share the rest with you, as soon as I've got time! At the very latest, there'll be a new chapter by the start of July. Aah!! :D ♥


	4. Lessons in Oddity

If there was one thing Credence could say after spending a week in Newt’s castle, it was that the man was slightly mad. In a good way, of course. 

The wizard did all sorts of batty things with his time, like giving his invisible monkey a bath in the sink (and hadn’t that been a sight to see, or not see, as the case was), practicing mating calls for some creature called an Erumpent, and reading aloud to Mira from history books that made no sense, that talked about elves and goblins and credited the fall of Rome to a vengeful herd of centaurs who had sided with the invading barbarians.

At this point, Credence had had a very strange and startling thought. “Do you think Jesus was a wizard?” he muttered to Grimm, who looked back at him seriously and did not reply. 

“Probably,” said Ariel breezily from her painting. “Turning water into wine is standard spellwork these days. Mira can even do champagne if she concentrates hard enough, not that her parents let her drink it. But she’s a bit precocious.”

And that was another thing. Credence watched, enraptured, as Newt gave Mira the strangest lessons he’d ever seen, teaching her how to mix odd, slimy ingredients into potions and harvest clippings from a plant that tried to swat its spiny leaves at her. Some days, she got to borrow Newt’s wand to make objects float up into the air, her small face intent with concentration. Or make a little flame appear in a jar, unlock a door from across the room, or transfigure a beetle into a button.

Credence didn’t really see the point of that last one. 

“In what sort of circumstance are you going to think to yourself, ‘hmm, I need a new button, and I could carve one myself, but I think instead I’ll go outside and catch a beetle?’” he muttered. He was seated comfortably on the squashy new couch Newt had conjured by the fire, Grimm’s sleepy bulk pressed against his side. The couch, at least, was a wonderful piece of magic, very practical, and had quickly become Credence’s favorite place to be in the evening while he watched the progress of Mira’s lessons.

Grimm just twitched an ear, his eyes blissfully closed, as Credence pet the thick fur of his back.

The castle itself, furthermore, was just as mad as its owner. No sooner had Credence set foot upstairs on that first morning than he had been set upon by a small squat furry creature with a flat bill like a duck, who had tried to steal the tarnished old buckles off his boots. Newt, harried, had scolded the little beast and shoved her back behind a nondescript wooden door upon which was hung a messy, handwritten sign:

_Remember:_  
\- _Always keep door locked_  
\- _Double-check the obstruction ward before entering, or the niffler will get out._  
\- _Absolutely no flammable substances in the enclosure with the fire crabs._  
\- _Remember to use a bubble-head charm around the nundu cubs. Their breath will knock you out no matter how cute they are._  
\- _Keep an eye out for things moving of their own accord. Dougal doesn’t like to be stepped on._  
\- _If possible, try not to make any snorting noises in front of Eloise. She takes them as an invitation._

Below this, in a slightly tidier hand, was scrawled, _Newt, remember to EAT and SLEEP! You’ve got to take care of yourself too._

And if Credence thought he’d seen strange things already, what was beyond that door was a thousand times wilder.

“It’s my life’s work, you see,” Newt had said cheerily, leading Credence through an impossibly large space filled with carefully constructed habitats to fit the needs of each otherworldly creature housed within. Credence couldn’t quite wrap his head around the fact that there was sky above them, and sunshine, and trees all around, despite the fact that he _knew_ they were still indoors. “I’m a magizoologist. I study magical creatures in the hope of understanding them better, and helping humans coexist with them. I’m writing a book!” Newt smiled incandescently, cooing down at a nest of hissing blue winged snakes with sharp little beaks. “Yes, hello, darlings. Mummy’s here, and I brought food!”

“But…” Credence sputtered helplessly as Newt tossed dried bugs into the baby snakes’ nest for them to eagerly devour. “How does it all fit? This has got to be twice the size of the market square, at least! The castle didn’t look this large when I arrived!” He supposed he really ought to be used to accepting the impossible at this point, considering how many of the rules of reality had been bent in front of his eyes already. “Oh, is it… It’s… bigger on the inside?”

Newt beamed at him. “Yes, exactly. The wonders of magic. This room is the sum of many undetectable extension charms and several layers of careful dimensional manipulation. Got to be sure it doesn’t shrink back with us all inside it, you see.”

“Right,” Credence gulped, not keen to imagine what the consequences of that might be.

After that, the tour continued. Annabelle whistled happily at them from her perch in a nearby tree before curling up into a cocoon so small he thought for a moment that she’d disappeared completely. There were creatures that swam, creatures that flew, and all manner of unbelievable things in between. He spotted the niffler again, her round little body burrowed into a mound of shiny coins and silverware, beady black eyes tracking the gleam of Newt’s pocket watch as they walked past. Dougal the demiguise made an appearance for a brief moment before turning invisible once more, his shaggy simian face shyly curious. Mira’s favorites seemed to be the graphorns, a family of three massive equine creatures with strange slimy tentacles wriggling on their faces. Once you got past those, they were actually quite sweet, Credence thought faintly, placing an awestruck hand on the adult female’s warm smooth back.

It was all incredibly marvelous and the habitats were beautiful, but Credence still felt like he needed a bit of a lie-down afterward. Meeting upwards of thirty species that you hadn’t known existed would do that to a person, he supposed. 

Luckily, his new bedroom was just down the hall from the creature room, and contained the fluffiest and most comfortable bed that Credence had ever had the luxury to lie in. He groaned embarrassingly loudly the first time he sank his creaking body down onto the soft mattress with its thick warm quilts, overwhelmed by pure astonished bliss. Never in his life had he slept upon anything fancier than his narrow cot upstairs in the church attic, and _this_ … well, he could see now why they called it a castle. He felt like royalty.

The rest of his room was equally lovely: a heavy porcelain sink, a small chest of drawers, and a tiny desk by the window, which looked out at the misty white profile of the mountain, bright and cold. He had no clothes to put in the dresser yet, although Newt had graciously loaned him several of his own spare shirts and trousers, and Credence was working on _not_ blushing when he put on the man’s borrowed union suits. He would have to go into the city and buy some more, he supposed, once they settled the question of wages, although how he was going to get there was still a bit of a mystery. He wasn’t sure if Newt’s magic green fireplace would work for him, though it seemed to do just fine for Mira when she went home to have lunch with her parents. He didn’t know if his knees would be able to manage the entire way back to the city on foot, either, especially since the castle moved further with each passing day.

That was another thing to get used to; the castle was nearly always moving, stubby legs groaning and creaking as they made their way over the rolling hills, though the rooms inside never so much as shook with the motion. There seemed to be some sort of logic driving it, some plan between Newt and Ariel. Credence found it a little disorienting, but each morning the other inhabitants seemed totally unconcerned to find their home re-located to a different patch of wind-blown grass and heather.

“Oh, it’s more fun this way, we always get to see something new out the window,” Newt said blithely, when Credence asked. The wizard grinned down at Mira playfully. “Plus, it keeps Ariel in shape. She’s got to flex her magic, keep those wooden energies alive.” Credence still wasn’t quite sure how a painting could be alive, much less in control of a moving castle, but he was learning not to question it.

Later, when Mira was not present, Ariel pressed her face up against her canvas and stared seriously down at Credence. “All the moving around is a safety measure too, you know. At least for now. Being on the move means Grindel-wanker doesn’t have any hope of hemming us in with a trap. No matter how much he’d like to, the slimeball.”

“I see,” Credence murmured. The more he learned about the Wizard of the Waste, the less he wanted to ever cross paths with him again, even if it meant his curse would never come off. The man sounded vile, and he had clearly set his sights on capturing Newt for some dark purpose Credence didn’t fully understand. 

He got a bit of the backstory one night from Newt, after Mira had gone to bed, the two of them sharing a pot of tea in the warm glow of the fire while Grimm snored softly between them on the couch. “He’s not like other wizards, Grindelwald,” Newt explained, frowning slightly. “He’s… well, he was a normal person at one point, I suppose. But by the time I met him he had already long since become… off. He’d mucked about with power beyond his control, and something went missing along the way.” 

Newt was sitting slumped forward, his chin propped in one ink-stained hand. He’d been scribbling furiously in one of his field journals that afternoon, compiling information for his book, distracting Credence with the way his pink tongue stuck out just slightly as he concentrated. 

“The difference is,” the wizard went on, “he used to be better at hiding it. When we met, I’m embarrassed to say I admired him very much, for all that he was able to do. He seemed… fearless, unstoppable, so potent and so charming.”

Newt rubbed at his eyes with his knuckles, shrugging. “I was young. He looked young.” The sentence hung heavy in the quiet of the kitchen, the fire crackling and the teapot steaming on the low table in front of them. Newt cleared his throat. “There were things he did with his magic, lines he crossed, that I could never approve of. Once that became clear, we went our separate ways, and I thought that would be the end of it. But something’s changed, these last few years. He’s getting bolder, his reach is getting longer, his scruples are getting…” he grimaced. “Well, at least when I knew him he would never have tried to do the awful things he's been dabbling in lately; making puppets out of people, splitting apart their souls, stealing magic just for the pleasure of it. If any part of him was compassionate and sensible before, I worry that it is gone. The Waste is poisoning him, or maybe _he’s_ poisoning the Waste, or his own magic has turned against him. At this point, who’s to know? Whatever it is, it’s driving him insane, and he’s become more dangerous than anyone I’ve ever seen.”

There was pity in Newt’s tired eyes, and fear, and a bit of sadness. Credence wished there was something he could say, some clever reassurance he could offer.

“There will come a point, I suppose, when it all comes crashing down on his head,” Newt said. “Magic does that, you see, it doesn’t like to be warped and corrupted the way he’s using it, manipulating nature, rejecting the advances of time and age, possessing the minds of others. It’s all dark stuff, reckless.” There was a smudge of ink on Newt’s chin now, transferred there from his calloused palm. Newt’s hands were hardened from work, Credence noticed, but still quite graceful and slender, the curl of his fingers endearingly delicate as he sipped his tea. “The day will come when he regrets all of it,” the man murmured in frustration, “I’ve tried many times to tell him so, but I doubt he’ll believe me until it is too late.” His shoulders looked slightly slumped, his bright eyes clouded. “And in the meantime, he refuses to stop chasing me.”

A sudden noise came from the window, a quiet rhythmic tap-tap-tap, and Newt and Credence both jumped, Grimm’s furry head popping up from Newt’s knee, and Newt accidentally spilled tea on the sleeve of his shirt.

“Oh, bugger! At this hour?” he muttered, directing his wand in a frustrated jab at the spreading tea stain and vanishing it away immediately. Credence looked around, wide eyed, for the source of the tapping, and was flummoxed to see an owl perched in the window box outside, its talons buried among the budding violets and its feathers distinctly ruffled in annoyance. 

“She must be getting desperate, if she’s resorted to sending me messages in the open like this, although I suppose nighttime provides the best cover.” Newt was now opening the window and beckoning the owl inside, settling its wicked talons on his wrist while he untied the roll of paper attached to the bird’s leg. 

It was heavy cream parchment, fastened with a midnight blue ribbon and the glossy wax seal of an eagle.

“Is that…” Credence had seen that eagle emblem before, glinting on the uniforms of the palace guards and flapping in the wind high above the city, decorating the Queen’s flag.

“A summons,” Newt sighed. “It’s not the first. Her Majesty Queen Seraphina would like me to report for duty and aid in the preparations for the probable war, to join her regiment of wizards and be trained in combat magic… blah blah blah. And I suppose she wants my creatures too, as weapons! Hmmph. Well, they are not soldiers for hire, and neither am I, and this nonsensical quarrel with Myria over Merlin-knows-what has already gone on for too long, and frankly I am simply _far too busy_ to care!” The owl gave him a disapproving look and nipped at his fingers. “Ow! Oh, bugger, alright, you need a reply.” The frustrated lines of his face softened as he eased the bird off his forearm and helped it perch on the back of his chair instead, pulling a bit of cold chicken out of the ice box to offer in supplication.

“You are a beautiful creature, aren’t you, lovely lady. It’s not your fault your mistress is going to war for idiotic reasons,” he said softly, watching the owl’s sharp curved beak snap up the treat, her feathers now smoothed back down calmly. Credence hid a smile while Newt cast about for a quill pen and some paper, watching him bite his lip as he wrote out an answer to the Queen’s missive. He was like this with all animals, cooing and enraptured, though never careless enough to neglect his own safety. It had slowly become clear to Credence that every creature on earth had Newt’s respect, his curious admiration. 

In fact, what upset the wizard so much about Grindelwald’s current spying scheme was not that the wolves he was sending were frightening, or dangerous, or anything of that sort, but that Newt _felt bad for the wolves_ every time he had to stun one of them or set up a ward that would give them a sharp buzzing sting if they tried to come near. That was just the sort of person Newt was.

The man had finished scribbling his reply now, his brow furrowed as he re-attached the paper to the owl’s leg and let her out through the window, her dark shape quickly disappearing into the night.

Newt crossed his arms, staring out at the stars for a long moment before letting out a gust of breath and turning with an air of determination. “Well,” he said, wandering over to the couch to give Grimm a reassuring scratch behind the ears. “That’s enough gloomy talk for tonight. I’ve told Seraphina I’m too busy and I don’t support this war, and we’ll just have to see what she says to that. There’s no sense in worrying over it now, I’ve always thought that worrying means you suffer twice.”

Credence rose from the couch in a creak of his old bones, nodding. He could see the sense in that.

And then they were off to bed.

 

Credence couldn’t help but notice, however, in the days that followed, that Newt did seem to do a great deal of worrying, no matter his cheerful words. He often could be seen watching the sky absently, his brow furrowed, stirring sugar into his tea without touching the spoon, his fingers swirling gracefully above the cup.

“What will our lesson be today, Uncle Newt?” chirped Mira on one such morning, her dark eyes bright and carefree.

“Ah!” And just like that, Newt’s smile was back, his attention re-focusing on his pupil. “I thought we might stretch our legs a bit and let Frank out for a short while. He’s getting restless, cooped up in his habitat, and his wing is healed enough now that a brief flight should be fine. I extended the boundaries of the wards this morning to make sure we have no surprise visitors on our outing.”

Credence tried to remember which creature Frank was, but his memory came up short. Maybe the fwooper? Each animal had its own backstory, some reason why Newt had taken them in, and he didn’t ever do it lightly. His charges were not curiosities, Newt had explained emphatically that first day, and he was not a collector, just a scientist and a caregiver. For animals that were injured or wouldn’t be able to survive without help, his castle was a refuge. 

Perhaps, in fact, it was a refuge for all who lived in it, Credence thought, even the humans.

Ah. He remembered now. The animal they were talking about was the injured thunderbird, a massive regal creature with piercing gold eyes and two sets of powerful wings, one of which had been in a splint when Credence moved in. Only Mira would take one look at such a beast and think to call him something as mundane as ‘Frank’. 

Credence hid a smile as he trooped upstairs and watched the girl use a curry-comb to brush the gleaming feathers on the creature’s haunches while Newt carefully cleared a path to the door, securing the other animals from escaping when it was opened. Grimm and Credence stayed well out of the way in the upstairs hall as the painstaking procession went past, Newt gently leading Frank down the staircase, which widened conveniently to accommodate the breadth of the beast’s folded wings. The first few steps outside the castle were hesitant, Frank rustling his feathers and blinking in the misty sunshine.

“Mira, darling, go ahead. Toss the fish nice and high.” The girl was carrying a bucket, from within which she pulled something silver and shining, throwing it up into the air with all her strength. “There we go,” Newt murmured, as Frank leapt joyfully after it, his wings unfurling in a huge gust of rain-scented air and lifting him off the ground. The morning sky was a clear blue, cloudless and serene, but as the thunderbird soared in jubilant loops above them it began to rain out of nowhere, fat drops of warm fresh water that sparkled on the grass and collected like tiny diamonds in the thick shag of Grimm’s dark fur.

“Oh, wonderful!” Newt cried. “Frank, darling, that’s fantastic! You really are feeling better!”

There was a rainbow stretching across the curtain of drops, glinting in the sun, and Mira ran laughing through the downpour to try and touch it, uncaring of her drenched clothes. Newt had conjured himself a clear umbrella, striding over to extend it above Credence and Grimm as well.

“Thunderbirds really are fascinating creatures,” he explained eagerly. “They can sense danger, and call up storms, of course, but they’re also very proud, and territorial. Frank here looked like he’d just been in a fight with another adult male over breeding ground when I found him. He was injured badly, unable to fly. Not sure how he got all the way to these woods, must’ve been blown off course. His natural habitat is the canyon on the other side of these mountains, further to the southeast than Ariel and I usually go. When he’s healed enough, I’m hoping to take a special trip to bring him home.”

Credence stared in wonderment at the soaring figure high above them, before turning his gaze on the castle. This was the first time he was getting a good look at the outside in daylight. 

“Oh!” he gasped, astonished. “Newt, is that Ariel too?” The front of the castle, which looked a great deal like the prow of a ship, had an elaborately carved wooden figure-head of a nymph with dark mahogany skin and flowing green hair, her oaken eyes keen and sharp.

“Of course it is!” the figure said suddenly, Ariel’s voice issuing from the wooden lips, and Credence yelped. “How do you think I’m able to see where I’m going? The whole castle is me, although Newt’s the one who reconfigured the cabin and added all the extra rooms on top. And his power holds me together, I suppose, if we’re gonna be technical about it. Good thing his magic is so green, or it might not work.”

“Oh, I see,” replied Credence faintly, although he didn’t really understand at all. How could Ariel _be_ the castle? For that matter, how could a wood carving move its mouth?

Newt seemed to sense his confusion. “I found Ariel a long time ago, trapped in the remains of a shipwreck,” he explained. “She was the dryad protecting the grove of trees that several boat builders took their timbers from, and they got a bit more than they bargained for when they took away her wood.”

“Let’s just say, that ship didn’t sail for long,” Ariel put in with a rather bloodthirsty smile. “You can’t steer if the wheel comes alive and throttles you instead. Those fools never saw it coming.”

“Er, yes…” Newt said, shuffling awkwardly. “She bound her spirit to the vessel, giving up her freedom in exchange for the opportunity to get revenge. A dryad’s trees are like their children. The consequences of stealing from them are… severe.” He looked a bit uncomfortable. 

“Oh, don’t worry, Captain, you know I would never do anything to hurt you or your lovely guests,” Ariel declared breezily. “If you hadn’t come along and patched me up, I’d still be stuck on those rocks getting all warped and dried out. This life is much more interesting than watching the seagulls drop turds on me all day, let me tell you.”

“Well, I suppose we can be thankful for that,” Newt replied wryly.

Shortly thereafter, Frank seemed to decide that he was done with his impromptu rain-making and settled down on the wet grass to preen his golden feathers, a beaming Mira dashing breathlessly over to Newt to have her soaking-wet clothes dried off with a flick of his wand.

“Oh, my,” murmured Credence, “that’s very useful.” Ah, to be instantly warm and dry! There had been many, many days spent passing out pamphlets in the rain that might’ve been made infinitely more comfortable by such a spell, if Credence had somehow known it existed. And, more importantly, if he’d been able to perform it correctly. Credence still hadn’t acted on Tina’s suggestion that he try to learn some different kinds of magic, nor had he mentioned his maybe-prophetic dreams to Newt, even though he knew Newt would likely be happy to discover that he had a brand new pupil just waiting to be taught. 

In all honesty, Credence wasn’t sure what was holding him back. The possibility of failure, or maybe… the possibility of success. It was all so unknown, so strange. What if his new magic got out of control, went bad, corrupted him like the Wizard of the Waste? 

He watched Newt kneel and carefully dry Grimm’s fur off with another twitch of his wand, entranced by the effortlessness of the gesture, the gentle way he ran his long fingers over the wolf’s shoulder afterward. Surely, if anybody was to teach him how to do magic properly, it would be Newt. One week had been more than enough to show him that the man was smart as a whip, with a brain packed full of obscure knowledge and a deep well of patience and good-humor. He was kind and he was lovely, and somehow that made the prospect of learning from him both tempting and terrifying.

“Well, considering we have such a beautiful day, why don’t we pack a picnic and go for a stroll! Mira, you remember what I told you about gnome holes? Let’s see if you can spot any of them on our walk.”

Newt was smiling, and Mira hooted as she punched the air triumphantly. “Yay! I know exactly what to look for. And can I try out your broom later, please, please, please?”

The wizard huffed ruefully. “We’ll see, darling, perhaps if you promise to stay close to the ground. And wear a helmet.”

Credence watched, fascinated, as Newt did something complex-looking with his wand while Mira eagerly dashed inside for her omnioculars, whatever those were. Newt held out an expectant hand, and a picnic basket soared straight out of the castle door and landed neatly in his grasp, the smell of something savory emanating temptingly from under the lid. The wizard rolled up his sleeves, his freckled forearms flexing with lean muscle, and strapped the picnic basket to his back.

“Courtesy of Mira’s parents,” Newt said, interrupting Credence’s reverie. “They send me baskets of food every so often, probably to make sure we aren’t out here subsisting on toast alone.” He laughed ruefully. “I’ve been meaning to tell them about you, they’ll be glad to know someone else sensible is helping to look after us. You and Grimm are both valuable additions to our household,” he said fondly. “Oh, do you want your walking stick? I can summon it for you.”

Strangely enough, though, Credence didn’t feel like he needed it. The windy air was clear and warm in his lungs, and his hair whipped around his face, scented with Newt’s shampoo. He felt oddly cleansed, his back less stiff and his knees supple once more.

“I think I’ll be alright without it,” he replied, and his voice was almost like it used to be.

Newt watched him for a second, eyes widening, and for a strange moment it was almost like he was seeing Credence for the first time. There was a flicker of recognition in his eyes, a brief flash of surprise. And then he smiled, broad and sunny. “Well, excellent.”

They set out among the low bushes and the sweet-smelling sway of the grass, marching in a line up past a wind-blown copse of trees. Newt kept the bucket of fish dangling from one arm, and Frank trod proudly after him, great beaked head nuzzling the wizard’s hair every so often. Credence grinned softly as he watched Mira and Grimm run ahead, the girl chattering happily to the wolf, who listened to her patiently, his dark eyes glancing back at Credence every so often as if to make sure he was still there.

“And that mushroom is actually a horklump, hiding from us,” she was giggling. “See, Grimm? That’s its head, covered in black bristles. They aren’t dangerous creatures, they just eat worms, but they’re a good sign that gnomes are nearby ‘cause gnomes like to eat them. I’ve seen lots of pictures of gnome holes but I’ve never seen one in real life!” Mira crowed. “Ooh, over there! Uncle Newt, is that a billywig?”

There was a fat blue insect of some sort hovering over a riot of heavy purple flowers, its wings protruding oddly from the top of its head.

“Very good, darling, that’s right! And what would happen if it were to sting you, do you remember?”

Mira carefully pursed her lips in thought, one small hand absently settling on Grimm’s broad back as they walked onward, giving the tangle of flowers a wide berth.

“I’d… feel really happy, and then I might hover off the ground,” she recited dutifully. “But it’s not as fun as it sounds, and if you’re allergic or unlucky you might float up and never come down.”

“Yes, that’s quite right,” Newt said. “I’ve seen it happen. Poor chap had to be tied by the ankles to his own front gate to keep him from drifting up any higher, and his wife would climb a ladder every day to keep him company.”

They were rounding the curve of the hill now, winding their way down the other side to a patch of meadow sheltered from the wind by an outcropping of rock and a stand of craggy pine trees, the sun glowing bright on the little white flowers dotting the grass.

“This looks like a nice spot, doesn’t it?” Newt said cheerfully, setting down the picnic basket and the bucket of fish. Frank immediately nudged him firmly in the ribs, rustling his feathery wings. “Oh, yes, alright, you impatient brute,” the wizard laughed affectionately. “Here, have the rest of them.”

The thunderbird screeched happily as Newt tossed fish up into the bright sky, powerful gusts of air buffeting the grass as Frank flapped his wings and caught them in his beak. Grimm and Mira were bounding in a circle around the edges of the meadow, looking for gnome holes, while Credence unpacked their picnic and laid it carefully out on a soft blanket. There were boiled eggs and cold pickles, thick-cut sandwiches, crisp apples and sweet tea, and a small paper-wrapped bundle of roasted nuts. 

It was, in Credence’s estimation, a feast.

The afternoon passed lazily in the humming sunshine, Mira exclaiming intermittently from the tree line. Newt wandered over to praise her sharp eyes in spotting signs of gnome habitation while Grimm loped back through the grass to sit at Credence’s side, accepting bits of bread and roast beef from his hand with gentle teeth. When Mira returned, Newt and Credence watched with suppressed amusement as Grimm long-sufferingly allowed the girl to drape his dark furry head with flowers, chattering happily to him about the book of fairy tales she was reading back at the castle.

Credence listened with half an ear, his mind wandering. Newt had an incredible library in the hallway next to Credence’s room, storybooks and history and magical theory alike. Thus far, Credence’s search for a book that might help him break his curse had not borne any fruit, but there were still more shelves to look through. He’d barely skimmed a quarter of Newt’s collection yet, so there was no reason to give up hope. In the meantime, he’d become fascinated by a book that detailed the lore of making magic wands. It turned out that wand-making was a relatively recent practice, begun in the last few centuries, before which spells were performed with a staff, or nothing at all but the force of the caster’s will. Wands were made of special trees, like alder and rowan and hawthorn, wood that sang with magic of its own, and they always contained a powerful core from some magical beast. It was no wonder the Queen wanted to get her hands on Newt’s creatures, Credence had realized, as he paged through the lengthy description of how useful thunderbird feathers and demiguise hair were in wandmaking and other forms of spellcraft. 

The beasts under Newt’s care would be an asset to any army looking to enrich its magical firepower. But they were also living beings, with minds and feelings of their own. Newt was right. They were not cannon fodder, and it was cruel to reduce them to just being useful parts of a war machine.

“… and then the princess married the knight, and they went to live in the forest, just like the talking raven told her they would,” Mira was saying, absently patting Grimm’s back. The wolf’s fur was looking much healthier these days, glossy and thick, combed free of mats and burrs by Credence’s gentle fingers and a soft brush. “Uncle Newt?” the girl asked out of the blue, her expression carefully innocent. “Are you going to get married to Aunt Tina?”

Credence couldn’t help but freeze a little inside, his eyes darting over to Newt, who looked startled.

“Mira, darling,” the man began, gently. “What gave you that idea?”

The girl shrugged, dark curls bouncing against her shoulders. “Well, then she could stay in the castle all the time, and never leave for work. I thought all grown-ups wanted to get married. And Tina’s clever and beautiful and good at magic, just like you!”

Newt’s ears were flushed a delicate rosy pink, his eyes on his lap. “Well,” he managed, “I’m not arguing with that. Tina is a wonderful person, and my dear friend. But we won’t be getting married.” His voice had found some firmness. “I don’t want a wife, and she doesn’t want a husband. It might not make sense to you yet, darling, but being an adult is more complicated than it looks. She and I would never work, you see. Her heart is far too dedicated to the Queen and the city, and mine is much too flighty to settle in one place.” He looked up at the sky, the sunlight sparkling on the swaying leaves, the sweeping expanse of the hills climbing up to the mountain. He sighed. “Anyway, we’ve found that we love each other like friends do, Mira, not like your mother loves your father.”

The girl looked a little disappointed, but she didn’t question Newt any further. Credence, for his part, was guiltily relieved, not that he would let himself examine the shameful reasons why. Was it not enough that he was happy here, peaceful and safe, with friends to keep him company? Why should he selfishly wish to keep Newt’s affections from landing on anybody else? They certainly would never belong to Credence; the Wizard of the Waste’s curse had seen to that, if the possibility had even existed in the first place.

Credence found that his mood took a darker turn after that, and he was quiet on the walk back to the castle, his bones creaking and his knees beginning to feel terribly stiff as he stumped after Newt’s lithe figure through the grass. Ahead of him, Newt was running his long fingers through the high plants beside the path, leaving the foliage a little thicker and brighter green behind him as he walked along, spreading his magic through the meadow. The flowers bloomed, reaching for him in thanks, the roots dug deeper, and everything seemed to sigh with satisfaction.

It was beautiful. And it made Credence even more wistful and grumpy. 

Grimm, uncannily observant, stuck close to his side like a protective shadow, letting him lean on the wolf’s strong back for support as they climbed down the hill, regretting not bringing his cane. This morning’s ease of movement had been a fluke, perhaps, an anomaly, Credence thought. He was an old man, after all, with a heart made heavy with trouble; he had forgotten that for a while, but that didn’t mean anything had changed.

Newt looked at him in concern as Credence huffed his way laboriously toward the castle steps, feeling as though the walk had aged him thirty years. Where had the elasticity of his legs gone? It hadn’t been this difficult to walk before.

“Would you like to join us for Mira’s lesson?” the wizard asked, his voice uncharacteristically hesitant. “We’ll be working on some cushioning charms today, before I let her have a go on my broom.”

This was met with an excited whoop from Mira, who dashed ahead of them into the castle. Credence turned to look over at Newt, standing there with the wind tossing his copper curls, the sun kissing his freckled cheeks, magic and beauty in his every pore. Frank, behind him, ruffled his feathers, a fellow creature of glowing golden mystery, both of them painfully handsome and lovely and untouchable.

At the moment, it was all a bit too much. “I’m sorry, but I feel I must go have a nap instead,” Credence rasped. “Must’ve worn myself out. I’ll be down in time to make supper, though, I promise.”

Newt’s face fell slightly, his brow furrowing. “Of course,” he murmured. “Rest for as long as you need. Don’t worry about supper, not if you aren’t feeling well. We can make something and bring it up for you.”

“No, thank you,” Credence countered crossly, feeling childishly frustrated. He wasn’t an invalid, after all. “I’m fine,” he said. “A short rest is all I need.” 

With that, he turned and clomped up the stairs, knees twinging, and made his way sullenly to his room, Grimm trailing uncertainly in his wake, a silent presence at his heels. As soon as the door was closed behind him, the wolf pressed against his knees, and Credence felt like an absolute fool.

“Oh dear,” he sighed gustily, easing himself down onto the bed with a pop of his lower back. “What has gotten into me? That wasn’t very polite at all, storming off like that.” He felt weary and sad and strange, ashamed and unsettled over something too confusing to name.

Grimm nosed at his weathered hand, the beast’s dark brown eyes solemn and patient. Credence could feel his face crumpling, his heart sinking further at this show of compassion, almost painfully humbled.

“Oh, Grimm,” he whispered, finding that his eyes had grown hot without his permission, wetness gathering in the corners next to the wrinkles spreading like crow’s feet across his temples. “I just… I wish…”

He tried to say _‘I wish I were young again, that the curse were lifted.’_ But of course the dratted words wouldn’t come out, stopped by the wizard’s jinx, and instead he sputtered and choked, more tears spilling over his cheeks as he fought to breathe. Grimm planted his forepaws on the bed and pressed his nose worriedly against Credence’s face, a low whine escaping his throat. It was the first time the wolf had ever made a sound, to Credence’s knowledge, and the shock of it untangled the knot that had become of his tongue. 

“You’re… oh,” Credence began, huffing a watery laugh as Grimm licked a tear off his face. “You know, I never really thought about how quiet you are. Is that normal, for wolves? I can’t help but think it isn’t, but then, we already know you aren’t a normal wolf.” He patted the quilt next to him in invitation, and the animal gazed at him seriously for a moment before leaping up beside him, surprisingly nimble for his size. The bed groaned slightly under his weight, but Credence paid it no mind, arranging them so that he could sink into the pile of pillows with Grimm’s heavy wedge-shaped head on his chest. The wolf had to lay half on top of Credence to fit himself on the narrow mattress, one great paw dangling precariously off the side.

“Thank you for keeping me company,” Credence murmured. He couldn’t see the wolf’s face very well from this vantage point, but he could feel the creature’s ear twitch against his hand as he stroked gently over his furry head. “I suppose I'm just having a bad afternoon, got some unpleasant memories filling my head. I can’t speak about some of them,” he went on, “Quite literally, I can’t, but if you don’t mind, perhaps I could tell you about my family. I miss… I miss my sisters.” And he did, painfully, the words pulling an image into his mind of Modesty’s devastated face, Chastity’s worried eyes right before he’d left the church, when he hadn’t even been able to say goodbye. He hadn’t been able to explain any of it to them, not why he was leaving, or what had happened, or tell them how much he cared about them and how desperately he hoped they would see each other again.

So instead, he told Grimm. His voice grew hoarse and dry as he told the wolf about Modesty’s interest in drawing, and how Credence liked to bring her bits of paper and pencils so she could practice. He told him about Chastity sneaking him a piece of leftover bread last week when Credence got home late and was sent to bed without supper. The wolf listened unwearyingly to his lengthy commentary on how clever Chastity was and how wonderfully she helped Modesty see the good things in life, despite the ever-present burden of pleasing Ma.

There, he stopped. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to talk about Ma, not here in this wonderful, magical place. Grimm shifted his head slightly, cold nose nudging Credence’s chin.

“You sure you want to hear this part? It’s not exactly happy.” But the wolf made no move to go, just wriggled his warm bulk a little tighter against Credence’s side.

The words came out with more difficulty after that, muffled by a lingering fearful darkness. He talked about Ma’s sermons, and how Credence was expected to listen dutifully and adhere to every word, and do his utmost to spread her message to everyone else in the city. He spoke of her displeasure when he failed in this task, or when he was late, or disobedient, or got distracted by a wonderful book in the marketplace that spoke about magic like it was a beautiful thing, a part of life, not a force of evil. He told Grimm about how she used to punish him.

At this point, Credence had to shift positions, unconsciously curling himself onto his side, Grimm’s furry body a reassuring wall of heat in front of him as he murmured into one dark pointy ear.

Now that the confession had begun, he couldn’t seem to stop it pouring out of him in a relieved gush of words, his fingers tangling in the wolf’s fur and his voice quieting to a whisper as he described the belt, the gnawing feeling of hot shame and anger that used to course through him each time she demanded that he hand it over. In the quiet serenity of his castle bedroom, Credence admitted to having occasionally considered ripping the belt from her hands and lashing her with it instead, or simply running away and never coming back. But he could never bring himself to do it.

“And then the choice was taken out of my hands,” he breathed, the warmth of his exhale fluttering against the fur of Grimm’s neck. The animal was most likely asleep at this point, though Credence hadn’t looked to make sure, his face tucked safely into the thick ruff under the wolf’s ear, dark hair tickling his nose. “And so I came out here instead.”

And this was so much better, on the whole, even if he did miss his sisters. The castle was bright and happy where the church had been heavy with dark melancholy. There really was no comparison; this life of wonder and magic and new friends, compared to his meager bedroom in the lonely attic with its thin walls and rattling window, through which he used to stare out at the stars and the mountains and _wish_ to be out here. Out here, in the hills, under the stars.

“I used to have such beautiful dreams,” Credence whispered. “About the stars falling like jewels out of the sky, streaking over the ground. They sort of looked like people, figures made of shadow and light. And sometimes they would dance.” His tears had dried now, his fingers gentle as he absently combed them through the fur on Grimm’s shoulder. “When I could remember my dreams, I used to stay in bed for a few extra minutes in the morning, trying to hold on to them, trying to keep them alive for just another moment. Even though I could never recall the details as well as I wanted.”

Outside his window, Credence could see the light slanting across the hills, the white snow on the mountain painted in rose-hued gold as the sun sank lower in the sky. It would be time to start on dinner soon.

“I’ve always thought the stars were fascinating,” Credence murmured, savoring the peace and quiet of the room, the rise and fall of Grimm’s ribs against his chest. “They are part of a different world we don’t get to see. Who knows what it is like, up there? I used to dream that the sky would swallow me up, so that I could look back down at the earth and see how small everything really was. The city, and the palace, even the sea at the end of the river, it would all look so tiny from far away, wouldn’t it? I used to like that idea, of being up in the air, floating above everything. None of it would matter anymore.” He huffed a laugh. “Kind of like the man who got stung by a billywig, just… drifting up and away. I used to wish I could fly, just rise out of the valley and glide up toward the mountain, stare at the moon up close.”

Grimm shifted slightly on the bed, re-adjusting the fold of his paws. Maybe he wasn’t asleep, then. “You’d know all about staring at the moon, though, wouldn’t you?” Credence went on, smiling gently. “Or is that just a generalized assumption? That all wolves howl at the moon?”

By now, his earlier bleak mood had lifted its weight from his chest, trickling away like water and leaving him feeling strangely fresh. Credence withdrew his face from Grimm’s neck and propped himself up on one elbow, grinning playfully down at him. The animal shifted his large head to look back at Credence. 

And then, suddenly, Grimm surged up from the bed to stare at him more carefully.

“What?” Credence asked, tilting his head in confusion. For a second, it seemed as if the wolf were looking at him like he was a stranger.

Then, very slowly, the animal leaned in and pressed his nose against Credence’s face, dark eyes purposeful and steady. 

No matter how much he wanted to, Credence couldn’t parse what that was supposed to mean. “I’m so sorry, my friend,” he sighed, “It seems my understanding has failed you again. Would that I could speak wolf, or that I had a keener mind to figure out what you are trying to tell me. But the sentiment seems to be supportive, and I can at least offer my thanks to you for listening.”

Grimm huffed once, quietly, and then licked his cheek, leaving a slimy wet trail behind.

“Oh! Um… thank you.” Credence stroked a hand over the creature’s dark head, scratching his fingers behind his ears. “I’m so lucky I found you that night, you know. You’ve been a better friend to me than anyone I’ve ever met.”

And then Credence sighed, reluctantly leaving the warmth of the bed to pull on his boots once more and see about starting the preparations for dinner. He turned back over his shoulder on his way out of the room, catching sight of Grimm still watching him from on top of the quilts, eyes dark and inscrutable. “Do you like the sound of roast potatoes tonight? With a bit of salt and rosemary?” Credence asked the wolf, one hand absently wiping the still-wet trail of saliva off his cheek while he dallied in the doorway.

The wolf said nothing, of course, didn’t even move a muscle, but this was nothing new, so Credence just grinned at him and headed down the hallway toward the stairs, a spring in his step. He was just about to pass the door to Newt’s fantastical room of habitats when he froze completely.

He’d just wiped off his cheek with his hand, and the ghost of the sensation still echoed against his nerves. 

Smooth skin, no wrinkles.

Grimm was still waiting motionless on the bed when Credence clattered back into his small room, breathless and wheezing, skidding to a halt in front of the tiny mirror hanging above his sink. 

His breath left him in a shuddering gust of disappointment when he saw the same aged features staring back at him, grey hair, wrinkled face, baggy eyes. Had it just been his imagination?

“Was there…?” he began, gesturing vaguely at his face while the wolf watched him patiently. “Did I…?” It was no use, of course. He couldn’t speak aloud about the curse, and Grimm had no way to vocalize an answer, to confirm what Credence was sure he had felt. He _knew_ he’d felt it, no matter what he looked like now.

The curse, perhaps, was slipping. And if it could flicker once, it was bound to do it again.

Credence turned back to the mirror, looking his reflection determinedly in the eye. He wasn’t going to give up hope, then. Life went on, and he would move with it, and maybe along the way he would find a way to break this curse all by himself, with no wizard to help him.

Credence shot Grimm one last lingering, puzzled look.

“Huh. I guess we’ll have to wait and see.”

The wolf, as usual, said nothing, his dark eyes solemn and patient and a little bit melancholy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Another chapter! Thank you all _so_ so much for waiting!!!! :)  
>  Things are a little less nuts-o with me now. Whew!


	5. Striking the Match

Life in the castle formed itself into a routine, in the weeks that followed. 

Each day, Credence would rise early, the sun warming his quilts through the window and painting the insides of his eyelids a gentle orange. He would stretch, back popping, and scrub his face in the sink, staring at his reflection while he cleaned his teeth, hoping to see some sign of the curse wearing off.

Nope, still old.

Perhaps it only flickered when he wasn’t looking? Or only when he wasn’t thinking about it? Either way, Credence reasoned, no amount of prolonged glowering at the mirror was going to help.

Instead, he would turn away from the looking glass and climb down the stairs, his footsteps muffled by the soft slippers Newt had ordered for him by owl. The slippers had arrived that first week, along with several sets of fine clothes that mysteriously fit Credence perfectly despite the fact that he hadn’t been to the tailor to be measured. As the day began, Credence would roll up the sleeves of his silky new shirt and start whisking together omelets and hearty oatmeal and fluffy pancakes, frying sausages over the now gleaming-clean stove, the aroma waking Grimm up where he lay sleeping on the couch by the fire, surrounded by the pile of soft pillows Newt kept conjuring for him.

“Good morning,” Credence murmured, as the wolf came over to investigate the food. The first steaming hot plate was always set on the floor for him, next to the handy self-freshening water bowl Newt had engineered. Then the rest of the breakfast was laid neatly around the table to await Newt and Mira, while Credence sank comfortably into a chair with his own meal, sipping a cup of Newt’s herbal tea and looking around in contentment.

The castle was much tidier these days, thanks to Credence’s intervention. The kitchen sparkled, the table shone, and the windows were crystal-clear. The washroom, true to Ariel’s word, had been a disaster; the bathtub had needed a very thorough scrub and the tiles a good mopping before Credence had deemed it fit to be considered clean. He had swept the floors in every room, dusted from top to bottom, oiled the hinges on the doors, scraped the cobwebs from the ceiling and fixed the leaking faucet in the upstairs lavatory, and now he surprised to find he was running out of things to do. There was the cooking and the washing up, of course, but Credence was very quick and efficient at that, and four mouths to feed hardly produced that many dishes to be washed. Or five mouths, if Tina had stopped over for the night.

Instead, much of his free time nowadays was spent reading, scouring Newt’s library for information on curses, though his research thus far had raised more questions than it answered. For instance, which curse had Grindelwald used on him, specifically? There were, apparently, a whole variety of disfigurement curses, each with slightly different results, though the books were unhelpfully vague about the differences between them. How was a person supposed to know if they’d been hit by the ‘Grief of Tithonus’ or the ‘Folly of Medusa,’ when all they had was a volume of roughly-translated Greek poetry to describe the effects? Not to mention, none of the books seemed especially clear on the particulars of how any of the curses could be broken. Credence had found one ancient-looking volume whose crumbling yellow pages mentioned a prince who’d been turned into some sort of monster by a witch, and had been saved by ‘ _the moste pure marke of love, freely given, blinde to vanity and to greede_ ,’ according to the faded, spidery writing curling across the parchment.

Well, he wasn’t exactly sure what the purest mark of love was, and it didn’t seem like that cure was going to help Credence, regardless; his curse was different. It hadn’t made him a monster, just, well… less nimble and far more prone to taking naps in the afternoon.

Helpful or not, however, Credence couldn’t help but find all of this research darkly fascinating. Magic was complex and had many uses, some of which seemed wonderful, and some incredibly cruel and dangerous. One of the tomes briefly mentioned a way to cut a soul into multiple pieces, to split a person into more than one part, more than one body. He felt an uncomfortable shiver work its way down his spine at that. Credence likewise felt a bit horrified when he came across a description of a curse that took control of a victim’s free will, forced them to act according to the caster’s command. It was a sickening thought, to be made to be obedient like that, shut down, helpless. The book seemed to think that there was a way to throw the enchantment off, though, through sheer force of will and a strong enough emotional anchor, but only a few witches and wizards had managed it. Swallowing thickly, Credence hurriedly flipped the page, keen to move on to another topic.

He read about hexes and jinxes, charms and enchantments. He pored over a book on different kinds of potions, lost in amazement among the ink-stained pages. Merciful heavens, there were potions that could _change_ your entire self, ones that could re-grow bones, others that could make someone tell the truth! 

It was all so incredible, so strange and marvelous that Credence often got wrapped up in his studies, spending hours reading upstairs in the library, ensconced in a squashy armchair. Or he would bring his books downstairs to the kitchen, where he could sit stretched on the couch while the landscape passed by outside the open window and Grimm nestled into Credence’s side.

“Don’t you want to do something more interesting than watching me read all day?” Credence murmured softly, reaching up to pet the wolf’s ears while the breeze ruffled his fur.  
But it seemed he did not. Grimm just snuffled quietly, heavy head resting on Credence’s shoulder.

Well. Credence certainly didn’t mind the company. “Alright,” he whispered, grinning. “On to the next chapter.”

 

Occasionally, Newt would have Ariel stop the castle for an afternoon and they would all spend several hours traipsing about in the sunshine after some wild creature or other, catching glimpses of spiny knarls skittering about in the underbrush or tiny speckled blue jobberknolls nesting in the hollow of an old fir. 

On one particularly bright, cloudless day, they all went out to look for bowtruckles.

“They’re very peaceful,” Newt explained, creeping a bit closer to a tall spruce, its branches swaying gently in the wind. “Tree guardians, very shy. But they can be fierce if their home is threatened. An offering of wood lice never goes amiss to ensure there are no misunderstandings.” 

The bowtruckles were tiny green sticklike creatures, their dark little eyes fixed on the small jar of woodlice in Newt’s hand. 

“Alright, here we go,” the wizard said. “I’d just like to say hello, see? Not trying to hurt your tree. This is Mira, she’s learning how to pay her respects too.”

Credence and Grimm watched from a safe distance as Newt dumped his offering of lice onto a broad leaf and set it carefully on the branch of the tree, the bowtruckles immediately swarming around the food and gobbling it up, one tiny creature catching hold of Newt’s sleeve as he slowly pulled his hand back.

“Well, hello there, aren’t you a friendly one!” Newt chuckled. Mira stared, enraptured, as the small bowtruckle climbed easily up the man’s arm. “I’d say he’s male, based on those dorsal spines, almost fully mature. See, darling, he isn’t quite as big as that one there with the impressive frond coming off her head, that one’s an adult. Yes, you are still a bit young and headstrong, aren’t you?” Newt cooed, while the little creature chittered at him and perched himself on the wizard’s shoulder. “Mira, would you hand me my bag? I think this fellow would like a snack too. I’ve got some more dried pill bugs in there as a backup. Small red box.”

The bowtruckles seemed pleased with Newt’s offering, their happy squeaks echoing through the grove of trees as the one on Newt’s shoulder ate his small meal. He was enjoying himself so much, in fact, that he refused to go back to his home tree when it was time for them to leave.

“Go on, now, I won’t have your family accusing me of favoritism,” Newt said gently, scooping the bowtruckle onto the back of his hand and lifting him up toward the tree. But the animal just chirped in dismay and scuttled back up Newt’s wrist, no matter how many times he switched him from hand to hand.

Newt sighed. “Oh dear, he seems to have become attached.” 

Mira was giggling. 

“Darling, I am not setting a very good example for you here,” Newt said, exasperated. “I should’ve thought this through more carefully. You see, when young bowtruckles are near adulthood they tend to leave the family group and claim a new territory to guard. Looks like this one has mistaken me for a tree and chosen me for his new home, silly little chap.” His eyes softened. “Perhaps the vibrations of my magic feel appropriately plant-like to him, enough so that he’s gotten confused.”

Credence had to suppress a smile at the endearing sight of the small green creature clinging determinedly to Newt’s thumb, making mournful peeping noises. “Merlin’s beard,” the wizard muttered. “Alright, then, what’s the harm? I suppose there is always room for one more in the castle, especially one as small as you. I’ll just have to stock up on woodlice, won’t I?” Credence could tell that the battle was won the moment Newt started to use that soft, gentle cooing voice he always used with his animals. “I expect you’ll enjoy meeting Ariel, she’s a kindred spirit. Come now, don’t look so sad, I’m not leaving you behind, I promise. Here.”

Happily set back on Newt’s shoulder, the young bowtruckle’s leafy green head bobbed contentedly as they walked back through the woods to the castle, the animal making a sort of satisfied singing noise as his tiny limbs clung to Newt’s shirt collar. 

Still grinning, Credence inhaled the deep, sweet bloom of late spring, trudging past clusters of flowers and trees heavy with bright new leaves. The days were growing longer, bright and warm, Grimm’s winter coat shedding bits of floaty dark fluff all over the couch and Credence’s quilt. Credence himself no longer needed to wear his coat outside, letting the breeze ruffle the soft fabric of his fine shirt, taking long strides in his sturdy new boots. His hair was getting longer and longer, perhaps faster than was natural, and he had been forced to start tying it back with a bit of cord to keep the wind from tossing it in his face, a ripple of burnished silver.

Credence paused to admire the view as he crested the knoll where the castle stood waiting, its odd wooden shape and terra cotta roof tiles lit by the syrupy heat of the afternoon sun, green meadow spreading like a thick verdant carpet behind. They were high up into the hills now, the city and its valley so far in the distance that Credence wasn’t sure he could point to it if he tried.

“Oh!” Mira gasped ahead of him, curls bouncing around her head as she turned to beckon Credence closer. “Come look,” she whispered, taking his hand and leading him around the side of the castle. Newt was busily introducing Ariel to the bowtruckle at the prow end, while Mira and Credence crept round the stern, Grimm a curious shadow behind them. “See?” she breathed, one small finger pointing.

“Is that… what I think it is?” Credence asked, barely more than a whisper. There was a white shape on the other side of the meadow, just visible at the edge of the trees, delicate slender legs and a gleaming horn. This, at least, was a creature he recognized from legend, though he’d had no idea that they were actually real.

“A unicorn,” murmured Mira. “Oh, it’s so beautiful! Maybe it will bring us luck.”

“Really?” Credence whispered.

“I don’t know,” the girl replied breathlessly, “just seems like unicorns might be lucky; they’re so gentle and pure. But I don’t know all that much about them, really. Newt says they’re peaceful, and shy, and they’re hunted too often for potion ingredients, but nobody has been able to do an extensive study on their social behavior, or figure out what their lives are like.”

Credence nodded, impressed. That was quite the eloquent answer for a ten-year-old. “Maybe you will, some day,” he said, watching her face light up.

“Ooh,” she sighed. “Maybe so.”

To Mira’s disappointment, the unicorn disappeared from view soon after that. Back in the castle kitchen, Credence listened with half an ear to Mira’s excited recount of the sighting to Newt, grinning down at the fresh greens he was chopping up for supper. On the way to the bowtruckle tree, they had foraged wild arugula and wood leek, crisp asparagus and tender fiddleheads, all of which Newt had assured him were lovely to eat. The rest of the food in the pantry seemed to replenish itself of its own volition, vegetables and bread and beans and thick wheels of cheese, the milk and eggs never running low in the ice box.

“Oh, Mira’s parents are very generous,” Newt had explained enigmatically, when Credence had asked where it all came from, back when he still felt a need to question all the inexplicable things around him. “The cupboard is linked to their storeroom. So that we never run low.”

Whatever spell made that possible, Credence was grateful for it now, as he beat the eggs and rolled out the crust for a quiche, baking the tender greens in with slices of new potato and chunks of salty herbed cheese. Early on, he had also discovered a dusty, unopened cookbook propped on one of the cupboard shelves, its spine still crisp and its pages pristine. There was a note written on the inside cover:

_Newt, I don’t know how to thank you for everything you’ve done for me, but maybe this cookbook is a start. If you ever want to try using that kitchen of yours, here’s someplace to begin. – Jacob_

Well, it seemed Newt had never gotten around to following any of the recipes in the book, but Credence had read through it several times by now, careful not to get grease on the pages as he pored over lists of ingredients for countless things he’d never heard of. Pumpkin pączki, cauldron karpatka, and something called witch’s babka, whose instructions called for the optional inclusion of chocolate frogs. Credence, wide eyed, had left that page alone. There were also recipes for cabbage rolls and dumplings and hearty stews, and Credence’s first attempt at savory stuffed pierogis had been met with a great deal of enthusiastic approval from Newt and Mira.

Tonight, they ate their supper happily clustered around the table with the windows open, Newt amusing them all with the antics of his bowtruckle friend, who seemed be interested in mapping out all of the details of his new tree.

“That tickles!” Newt giggled, squirming as the tiny creature poked its twig-like arm into his ear. “Haven’t you finished your exploring yet? I’m afraid I’m not like your typical ash or fir, and nothing like a cedar. I don’t have leaves or cones or needles, and I don’t need you to care for my bark, I can do that just fine on my own.” 

The wizard squeaked as the bowtruckle climbed up the back of his neck and nestled himself in the wild copper curls of his hair. “Well, alright, if you’re comfortable up there. I’ll just have to remember not to put on a hat.”

The evening finished, as it often did, with Credence on the couch reading his latest book, this one a dense history of witch covens and jointly-cast magic. Apparently, if multiple magic users had a close enough emotional bond, their magic recognized one other as part of a single self, allowing a reciprocal flow of power between them. Members of witch covens were particularly resilient against curses, because they had so much power and support flowing through them from other members.

Unfortunately, that still didn’t help Credence, who was neither a witch nor part of a coven, but it made for absorbing reading. As he pored over the pages, Credence absently stroked Grimm's furry spine where the wolf had made himself comfortable against Credence’s side, his dark ears perked as he listened in on Mira and Newt’s lesson. The two of them often did one last bit of studying after dinner, a chapter of magical history, or a review of the uses of wiggentree bark in potion making, or perhaps some simple wand practice.

Tonight, Newt was having Mira point her borrowed wand at the fireplace and try to spark a flame in the cold grate, her small face flushing with frustration the longer she tried without success.

“It’s alright, darling, this is a much bigger burst of energy than that little fire we did in the jar. You’ll get it eventually, it just takes a good deal of concentration. One more time, then we’ll call it a night and pick this up tomorrow. Ready? Deep breath, visualize the flames, imagine you can hear them crackling, and…” He squeezed her shoulders.

“ _Incendio_ ,” Mira incanted, staring intently at the fireplace, sweat glistening at her temples. Nothing happened. “Am I not saying it right?” She frowned.

Newt gently steered her into the kitchen and poured her a glass of water, sitting her down at the table. “You were saying it fine,” he reassured her. “It’s been a long day, is all, or maybe it’s time for us to get you a wand of your own. Don’t worry about it. Different kinds of magic are easier for different people, and sometimes you can only get it right after you’ve gotten it wrong a few times.”

He smoothed his handkerchief across her face, wiping the perspiration from her brow and tucking a sweaty curl of hair behind one small ear. “I know failure doesn’t feel good,” he said. “But it’s a positive thing, I promise. Most things that are worth doing don't come easy. If we only did things we knew we could succeed at right away, nobody would learn anything new and the world would be very boring.”

“I guess,” she said, still looking a bit disappointed. She dutifully finished off the water, though, setting the glass down on the table with a thunk.

“What about that book you were reading the other day?” Newt coaxed. “The one with the dragons? Seems like there’d be time for a few more chapters before it’s time to get ready for bed. Why don’t you go relax?”

This seemed to immediately raise Mira’s spirits. “Yeah!” she chirped, “alright.” She went hopping up the stairs to her room with a smile on her face. Newt straightened, the bowtruckle still perched on top of his head, and wandered over to join Credence and Grimm by the fire, a squashy armchair obligingly popping into existence with a flick of his wand. 

“Tea?” Newt asked, glancing at Credence from under his curls, another wave of his wand summoning the kettle and two cups.

Credence nodded distractedly, lost in thought, accepting a warm mug of Newt’s homemade herbal infusion, steaming with the smell of ginger, burdock and lemongrass.

Magic really was very handy, he mused, pricked by a now-familiar ache of longing. How difficult would a spell like that be, to summon an object toward him? How challenging would it be to make the fire light in the grate? Mira was bright and talented, and had been around magic all her life. So… Credence, who had been closed-minded for so long and was far past the usual age of teaching, was not likely to do nearly as well as she had.

Credence watched surreptitiously as Newt swished his wand again and held out a hand, a book sailing down the staircase to land in his outstretched palm. The wizard made himself comfortable in the chair, crossing one slender ankle over the other, while the bowtruckle took a nap in his hair.

How long would it take to become as good a wizard as Newt? To be able to cast spells whenever he liked, to make the plants bloom and the torches light and the dishes wash themselves, to build a house with rooms that were bigger on the inside and a ship that walked on land?

Well, that last one was a bit ambitious. But maybe… just maybe, some aspects of magic weren’t too far out of Credence’s reach. Maybe… he could do a few simple spells, with enough practice.

Oh, but that would mean _trying_ something terrifyingly new, something he wasn’t sure he had any aptitude for. A slinking chorus of doubts crept up the back of his mind, whispering shamefully that there was no way he would be good at magic, no chance he was smart or special enough to be able to do this. He still had been too cowardly to broach the subject of lessons with Newt, too fearful of bursting the bubble of impossible hope growing in his chest. He wanted to be able to do magic so badly that it hurt, and he wasn’t sure he could bear to find out he couldn’t.

But Newt was right, of course. Nothing worthwhile came with a guarantee of success, and wasn’t it better to try and fail than to sit around wishing?

Credence sipped his tea, thoughts whirling. The evening slipped quietly onward, the lamps lighting themselves and the mooncalves trilling softly in the woods outside. Night had fully set in outside by the time Mira came downstairs to announce she was ready for bed, her teeth clean and her face scrubbed. Newt kissed her on the forehead and followed her upstairs to tuck her in, humming under his breath as he disappeared from view. 

The armchair stayed behind, deceptively solid-looking and real, where there had just been air before.

Credence stared at it for a moment, his mind spinning in circles, strange determination bubbling and fizzing like the potions Mira made in her practice cauldron. Magic was all about belief, Newt had told him once, that night they met. Well then, Credence believed. Magic was real, he was surrounded by it, it made up his entire life now. All he was lacking was belief in his own ability. 

He rubbed suddenly sweating palms on his thighs, wondering if he was deluding himself.

But, he thought, what harm could it do to give a spell a try? Just one spell, a little one. It’s not as if it’ll hurt anything. 

He pictured Newt’s voice in his mind. Deep breath, Credence, visualize the flames, imagine you can hear them crackling. 

“ _Incendio_ ,” he muttered experimentally, squinting at the fireplace in a pre-emptive wince. Nothing happened of course, just Grimm stirring sleepily against his side, ear twitching.

“Well, it won’t work if you say it like that,” Ariel commented dryly from her frame, causing Credence to startle and blush. “You have to mean it. Remember how cold you were that first night you arrived, how good the fire felt? Yeah? Use that memory. And at least point, or something, if you’re gonna be all archaic and do it without a wand.”

Credence stared at her for a moment, and then, feeling slightly foolish, he pointed his finger at the dry wood sitting patiently in the fireplace, shutting his eyes. He tried to call to mind the aching chill of walking for miles and miles out in the wind, remembering all his desperation and fear that he would find no shelter that night. He let the stinging gratitude wash over him, the relief he had felt upon climbing the stairs and feeling that lovely flickering warmth against his numb hands and–

“Oh wow,” Ariel said slowly, “Is that… hey, you didn’t even say it out loud! I never took you for a show-off, you prodigy.”

Credence’s eyes snapped open. There was a small fire in the grate, banked low, just like it had been the night he arrived. He could feel a pulsing warmth in his outstretched arm, a thrumming tickling heat. Baffled, he gaped up at Ariel.

“No, I… I don’t know how I did that. Was that… are you sure that was me?”

She snorted, giving him a look that was both incredulous and surprisingly affectionate. “Yes,” she said dryly. “That was definitely you, you special little snowflake.” She huffed. “Wandless, nonverbal magic. Oh, you know, just your average beginner stuff.” The sarcasm was thick in her voice, but her face softened the longer he sat there, blinking muzzily. “You okay there?”

Credence stared at her, feeling light and floaty with shock, still not sure he had really done it.

“Oh boy,” Ariel sighed. “Okay, you better go get some rest, hotshot, your first spell can take a lot out of you. Especially if you jump straight into elemental magic without a wand. Bit foolish, actually, but I suppose you didn’t know.”

He nodded absently, his head starting to feel heavy, dazedly staring at the smoldering coals. Grimm’s wet nose nudged his arm, reminding him to move. The moon had risen outside, serene and bright, and the stars twinkled in distant jubilation.

“I just… I can’t believe that was real,” Credence muttered, scratching his fingers absently over the wolf’s head and unfolding himself from the couch. He stumbled a little on the stairs, Grimm’s bulk pressing against his side and preventing him from toppling over. “Oh, thank you.” Perhaps Ariel was right. He was feeling a bit woozy.

He stopped outside his bedroom door, thoughts moving slow and thick. Huh. His cane was sitting innocently in the hallway, leaning against the wall outside his room, forgotten completely for the last several days. Or was it weeks? He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d used it. Had it been a whole month? Oh, confound it all, thinking was too difficult right now.

Somehow, Credence managed to sleepily change into his nightshirt in the dark, cleaning his teeth at the sink while Grimm sat watching patiently for any further signs that he needed help, a night-black shadow by the door. “What a kind wolf you are,” Credence cooed, his head feeling light and cottony, like spun sugar. He snuggled under his quilts, the wolf still watching him, eyes glinting in the moonlight, his tail folded neatly around his paws. Grimm was always neat and tidy. And he had a very nice tail, so fluffy. 

“Why don’t you come up here?” Credence whispered. “I know there’s not much room, but it seems a shame for you to have to go back downstairs all alone. We just need a wider bed,” he said, with a soft giggle. “If we _believe_ the bed is wide enough for both of us, maybe it will be. Because of…” He yawned widely, blinking slowly. “Mmm. You know. Magic.”

The wolf stared at him for a moment, then leapt gracefully up on the bed beside him, a large warm weight on top of the quilts. Credence snuffled into his pillow, half tempted to check if the bed was indeed any wider, but his eyes refused to stay open any longer. The mattress certainly seemed to be bigger than before, considering they were both somehow lying on it side-by-side without falling off. But he was too comfortable, too exhausted to see for sure.

Credence felt something wet against his cheek, probably Grimm’s nose, and he smiled softly. And then he was blissfully sinking into the arms of sleep, folded effortlessly under her cloak, wrapped in sweet-smelling fabric. 

He dreamed he was held in someone’s arms, a woman, he thought, her hair dark and her eyes deep like the night. _My little ember_ , she whispered, quiet as a memory, _your father would be so proud. See? Now you shine just like he did, before._ She was pointing up at the sky, her smile sweet and forlorn, and then Credence was flying, soaring up into the cold vastness under the moon, surrounded by pale flickering light. The stars were singing, swirling, a slow-marching dance across the sky. It was both happy and sad; one of their number was falling, soaring out of the velvety heavens to streak toward the earth in a smear of color and light. The star glowed like the coals of the fire Credence had conjured in the grate, sparkling black obsidian lit from within by the warm red thrum of life.

Dream-Credence watched as it fell toward the sleeping hills, landing in a burst of hot skidding stardust, smoking and crackling, before rising in a vapor to solidify into the shape of a man, pale as the moon. The figure looked out over the hills, cold and alone, his glimmering silver hair bright as the light of the stars, swirling down his back in the chill of the wind. Above him, the sky was dancing, and somewhere out in the woods a woman was singing, her eyes deep like the night, and the man reached toward the sound.

 

There was a knocking at the door.

Credence startled awake, feeling heavy and strange, unbalanced, like he had been taken apart and reassembled during the night. What had he been dreaming about? There was something beautiful and sad tickling the back of his mind, rapidly fading from memory. Grimm was sitting up next to him on the bed, soulful eyes fixed on the door.

The knock came again. “Credence? There’s no rush to get up, I just wanted to make sure you were alright,” Newt called. 

Credence blinked. The sunlight was streaming heavy and warm down on the hills outside his window, the shadows already shortening as the sun slid higher, creeping close to midday. Goodness, how long had he slept?

“Oh, Newt, I’m so sorry!” he yelped, all but throwing himself out of bed in a thudding tangle of limbs. “I’ve missed breakfast, haven’t I, and the washing up! I don’t know why I didn’t wake up like usual!” He was hurriedly yanking on his trousers, fastening the buttons on his shirt.

“Don’t worry about it,” Newt said through the door, “Please, don’t fret. You ought to have a morning off every once in a while anyway. You’re a member of the household, not a servant. Mira and I managed just fine, though I’m nowhere near as good a cook as you are. Are you alright? Is Grimm in there with you? I didn’t see him downstairs.”

“Yes, he is,” Credence said breathlessly, finally yanking open the door, startling Newt. “I’m so sorry,” he said again. “It was kind of you to let me sleep so long, I’m not sure why that happened.” Newt’s eyes were fixed on his face, his mouth open.

“Oh,” he breathed, gaze tracking over Credence for a moment, then flicking behind him to the interior of the bedroom, where Grimm was still lounged comfortably on the wide king-sized bed. “Not a problem. That’s… no problem at all. The sleep seems to have… done you good.” As they watched, the wolf got up and leapt to the floor with a heavy thump, brushing affectionately against both Credence and Newt on his way out the door, claws clicking on the wood stairs as he disappeared down into the kitchen. 

“Yes, quite a bit of good,” Newt murmured in surprise. The wizard was still staring at Credence, a slow, broad smile spreading across his face. 

Credence, pleased but confused, awkwardly tried to comb the glossy silver mess of his hair back into a neat tail with his fingers. “What do you have planned for today?” he asked softly, when the wizard continued to beam at him wordlessly. “Anything special I should make for supper?”

At this, Newt seemed to shake himself back into action, clearing his throat. “Ah! Actually, er… if it isn’t too much trouble, I thought we might have some guests over this evening. It would just be Tina, and Jacob and Queenie, Mira’s parents. Nothing fancy, no need to make anything different than usual, just three extra servings, if possible. Just, erm, wanted to give you some notice. They’ll probably be bringing dessert, so no need to worry about that.” 

The way Newt was examining him made Credence want to check whether he’d mis-fastened one of the buttons on his shirt or something. He managed a surreptitious glance downward. 

No, everything appeared to be in order. He was even able to stand up straight with no aches or stiffness today, perhaps due to his long deep sleep.

“Of course,” he replied earnestly, “It will be no problem. I can make twice as much, and we should have plenty for your guests.”

Newt blinked at him softly. “ _Our_ guests, Credence. This is your home too, remember, for as long as you’d like it to be.”

“Right,” Credence murmured bashfully. “Yes.” 

For some reason that made him blush, feeling flustered. He left Newt in the hallway and clomped after Grimm, distractedly taking the stairs two at a time. Down in the kitchen, Mira looked at him with her head tilted and her mouth pursed thoughtfully. She was seated at the table, a journal in front of her and a quill in hand, a half-finished sketch of the new bowtruckle drying on the page.

“Credence,” Mira said slowly, watching as he washed his hands and fixed himself and Grimm a late breakfast of sausage and rolls with slices of fresh tomato and basil. “Are you like Merlin?”

He looked at her over his shoulder, confused. “What do you mean?” He knelt to set Grimm’s plate on the floor, smiling when the wolf immediately pressed against his legs to devour the food, dark fur shedding all over Credence’s trousers.

“Well, he’s a wanderer, and in most stories he’s an old man,” Mira began, gazing at him carefully, her eyes wide and curious. “But in other myths, he ages backward, and he becomes younger. Plus, he talks to animals, just like you talk to Grimm, and Aunt Tina says you have the gift of prophecy.”

Credence blinked at her, momentarily speechless. “Oh,” was all he could manage, something hopeful beating loudly in his chest. So the curse really was crumbling, then. “Do I… Am I? How old would you say I am?”

She shrugged absently. “I dunno. You always look like a grown-up, but sometimes you’re really wrinkly and sometimes just a little bit, and today your skin is smooth like my Mom’s. What does Grimm say when you talk to him? Can you understand what he’s thinking?” This question was clearly far more important to her than assessing Credence’s age, her attention eagerly fixed on the wolf at his side. Perhaps all adults looked much the same to a child’s eyes anyway.

Credence sighed. “I wish I could understand Grimm,” he said. “But I’m afraid I’m not really like Merlin. I can’t usually decipher what he would like to tell us; he’s the special one, to be able to understand what we’re talking about.”

The animal looked up, breakfast plate licked clean, his dark eyes fathomless as always. There were tufts of loose winter fur floating off him, and one got carried by the breeze from the window to land endearingly on Grimm’s nose. The wolf sneezed.

“Oh dear,” chuckled Credence, “I think we’d better give you a thorough brushing before our guests arrive tonight. That way we’ll all be looking our best. Oh! And I’d better do a bit of dusting and polish the silverware and beat the rugs and scrub the floor!” 

It was starting to sink in how much he had to do, all in one afternoon. In his previous life, guests had always meant potential donors to the church or Ma’s most respected colleagues, and every effort was made to present them with a spotless home and quiet obedient children. Everything had to be perfect. This was not the same, of course, but Credence still felt anxiously determined to impress their visitors, to demonstrate his ability to contribute and make sure they were comfortable. 

Firmly resolved, he dashed upstairs to the hall closet to grab his thick mop and bucket of cleaning supplies, nearly colliding with Newt in the hallway where he stood frowning at a letter in his hand.

More news from the palace, perhaps? But Credence had far too much on his mind to wonder about the contents of the letter. He began with the dusting, carefully working his way through the main rooms of the castle until all the window sills, bookshelves, picture frames, cabinets and lamps shone spotlessly. With Mira and Newt upstairs working on a lesson in the habitat room, Credence took advantage of the empty kitchen to shove the table out of the way and scrub the floor. He was just about to reach the point where his progress with the mop was blocked by the couch, when there was a fluttering of a breeze against his neck and all of the furniture lifted itself obligingly several feet off the floor. 

Grimm huffed in surprise, peering over from his perch on the stairs.

“Wha…?” Credence gasped. Had Newt done that? Was it a particular characteristic of magical couches that they moved when one wanted to clean underneath?

“Aha!” said Ariel gleefully from her canvas. 

“What was that?” Credence said, slightly choked. “How did it do that?”

“Your magic is awake now,” the nymph said, her hair rippling as she moved eagerly to peer down at him. “It’s probably responding to your subconscious thoughts. Pretty handy, huh?” She grinned at him. “Also, thanks for dusting my frame,” she added. “Newt always forgets.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t mean to,” Credence said automatically, still stuck on processing what she’d said. His magic was responding to his subconscious thoughts? Good grief, what if it did something inappropriate, something that he didn’t intend to make it do? He yelped when he realized that while he’d been staring up at Ariel the couch had drifted higher, bumping against the ceiling. 

“No, no, stop that,” Credence said, feeling a bit panicked. He grabbed at one of the legs and tried to tug it back down. “How do I get it to stop? Get my magic to… go back to sleep again, or something?”

Ariel snorted. “You can’t,” she declared. “Your power won’t just go away because you tell it to, silly. It’s part of you, and it’s been waiting this whole time to get up and stretch, and you want to shut it away again? Come on, you’ve just got to coax it under control, embrace it, picture it doing what you want and _believe_ that it’s gonna work.”

He looked up at her helplessly. “But… what if I don’t want it to do anything right now?” This was overwhelming. He’d never realized that magic was like a water tap; once you turned it on, it was suddenly gushing everywhere, with no way to twist it back off. “It’s too much. I don’t…”

“Oh, buck up,” Ariel said, amused. “It’s not that bad. It will get easier, I promise. You magic’s just a little… overexcited, right now. It’s been buried inside you for a long time, I’m guessing, waiting to get out. You need to give it something to do, or it’s going to pop like a cork in a bottle.”

What a terrifying image. 

The solution, it seemed, was to focus very, very hard. Somehow, he managed to scrub the rest of the floor without incident, the furniture settling gently back down as soon as he was done. Credence carried the rugs outside, concentrating as closely as he could on keeping his magic under control as he hung them over a line and beat them until clouds of dust came billowing out. Then he tentatively imagined them flying themselves back into place inside the castle. 

There was a sudden wild, flapping gust of wind. And like a flock of odd, colorful birds, there they went, soaring through the door, Credence stumbling astonished in their wake. Of course, it didn’t quite work as planned. 

“Well, at least they’re inside,” Ariel said, chortling. Credence frowned wearily up at the rugs, stuck firmly on the ceiling right over the places they ought to have gone on the floor. “Oh, I’d forgotten how much fun it is to watch beginner magic. You never really know what’s gonna happen.”

“Well,” Credence replied, somewhat sourly, “I’m glad my difficulty brings you amusement, but our guests are still going to be arriving in a matter of hours and I’d like the rugs to be on the _floor_.”

“They will be,” she said easily. “Stop worrying so much. You think Mira never did anything like this before? Any craziness your magic can dish out, Newt will be perfectly able to fix. You can ask him to fetch the rugs down later.”

But Credence could be rather stubborn when he wanted to be, and he was now too embarrassed to ask Newt for help, ashamed to admit that he’d tried magic inside the wizard’s home without asking for permission or guidance. It was silly, but it felt almost as if he’d done something sneaky, something bad. And his instincts, honed from years of experience, were telling him to _hide the evidence_.

The rugs finally fell from the ceiling with a loud flump after twenty minutes of glaring up at them and scraping the ceiling with the broom, during which Credence got very frustrated and then very tired, and succeeded in giving himself a crick in the neck and a pounding headache behind his eyes.

“Credence,” Ariel groaned, as he stomped over to the kitchen cabinet to begin polishing the silverware. “What did I tell you about forcing it? Not a good habit to fall into. You and your magic need to work together, or it’s never going to mesh properly with your will.”

“That’s easy for you to say, you’re a painting,” he snapped. “I don’t know what I was thinking, taking advice from you in the first place.”

“You were _thinking_ that you’re an idiot and a new practitioner, and you need somebody to guide you, since you are obviously too much of a coward to ask Newt for help!” she replied, just as sharply.

Furious, he glared over his shoulder at her, his mouth opening to release an angry retort while Grimm watched him patiently from the stairs. 

For some reason, the sight of the wolf’s calm gaze made Credence feel very childish, his breath gusting out of him in a deep sigh. “Maybe you’re right,” he mumbled miserably. “I am an idiot. When has anything in my life ever gone the way it was supposed to? I should never have gotten over-confident and tried that fire spell in the first place.” Hope drained out of him, leaving him feeling hunched and shriveled. His hands were stiff as he worked at a tarnished patch on one of Newt’s shiny spoons, his head aching and his joints gnarled and sore. There was a heavy weight on his heart, a terrible pressure in his chest.

“Whoa, whoa, no.” Ariel made a noise of frustration. “That’s not what I meant, no need to backslide! Don’t let despair win, it’ll dampen your spark. You’re not defeated, you’re gonna get this right, it’s just gonna take practice. Oh, stop moping, you’re making the spoons vibrate. Pretty soon you’ll be calling on the spirits of darkness, and nobody wants that. Grimm, go over there and snap him out of it. Go on, give him a doggy kiss! He needs you to lick his face now, nice and slobbery.”

Credence couldn’t help but huff out a reluctant laugh at the unimpressed look on Grimm’s face, and the way he pointedly ignored her suggestion, staring at Credence instead with his serious dark eyes as if asking if he was alright.

“I’m fine,” he said, taking a deep breath. “Just apparently a little stressed and insecure. Ariel, are mood swings common for, um… beginner magic users? Maybe this is normal.”

“Credence,” she laughed, “none of this is normal. You’re not even normal for a _wizard_. But that’s alright, who wants to be normal? It’s boring.”

Well. Credence supposed he could agree with that.

His mood lightened considerably when Mira traipsed down from the habitat room carrying the bowtruckle on her wrist to pick an apple out of the pantry for a snack.

“I’ve chosen a name for him!” she declared excitedly, bouncing over to Credence’s side. “Newt says bowtruckles are very good at picking locks, so I’ve decided to call him Pickett! Get it? If you give him a lock, he’ll pick it!”

“Very appropriate,” Credence commented, settling the last of the silverware back into its drawer and tucking the polishing cloth into the pocket of his apron.

“I’ve already told Mom all about him this morning in my journal, and she says she can’t wait to meet him tonight,” Mira went on, grinning. Credence nodded, trying to wrap his head around what she meant. A magic journal, perhaps, that could send instantaneous messages? Who knew, really. Anything was possible. 

She eyed the stove hopefully, fidgeting. “What’s for dinner?” she asked, happy and wide-eyed, and for a moment Credence was reminded so strongly of Modesty that he couldn’t breathe. “Have you decided?”

“I’m not sure, actually.” Credence pulled the cookbook down from its spot, front and center on the freshly dusted shelf above the stove, while Mira patiently crunched her apple. “What do you think I should make?” he asked. “I won’t do as good a job with any of these recipes as your parents, but I might as well cook something they like.”

Her face lit up as she pressed against his elbow and peered at the table of contents. “Hmm.” The little bowtruckle was on her shoulder now, staring curiously up at Credence while his tiny arms clung to a curl of her hair. “This one. Dad makes this all the time, and Mom really likes it. She says it’s good for the soul.” She looked up at Credence.

“Krupnik soup?” he read, carefully flipping the cookbook open to the right page. “Alright, I can do that. We’ve got carrots and barley and potatoes, and those mushrooms you and Newt picked. As long as you’re sure they won’t turn us into toads. I’ve heard some frightful rumors about the mushrooms up here in the woods,” he joked.

Mira giggled. “Of course not, silly, they’re just chanterelles. Mom likes to sauté them with garlic and butter.”

“Well, that does sound quite nice,” Credence remarked, running his finger further down the list of ingredients. “Let’s see. I may need to go outside to look for some fresh parsley, but everything else is here. I’d best start soon, so the broth has plenty of time to thicken.”

There was no time to waste. A few minutes later, Mira had disappeared back upstairs for the remainder of her lesson with Newt, and Credence had arranged with Ariel to stop for a moment so he could go out and pick some herbs. It felt very quiet, traipsing outside through the grass with only Grimm at his side, without Mira’s chatter or Newt’s helpful commentary on the creatures in the trees. Credence’s bag swung lightly against his hip as he walked, scanning the sunny ground for patches of bright flat leaves, the warm breeze fluttering at the tails of his shirt while Grimm bounded ahead, sniffing intently.

“Do you smell any parsley?” The wolf’s keen nose led them further and further from the castle, his dark shape rustling through the deep grass to a shallow sunny knoll dotted with yellow flowers and stalks of leafy green. “Oh, excellent job,” Credence murmured, bending to clip several stems and place them in his bag, the sharp fresh scent of the herb tickling his nose.

He stood, smiling, the wind buffeting his back, squinting against the sun.

It took him a foolishly long moment to notice that they were not alone. 

Like ice cracking, Credence’s chest felt as if it was shattering with dread. Grimm was standing motionless, staring intently into the trees down the hill, his hackles raised. 

Oh, no, no, no, they must’ve wandered too far, left the radius of Newt’s careful wards. Below them, not twenty feet away, were three wolves, eerily still, watching them from the tree line, two black-furred and one speckled grey. Their eyes were all an abnormal, glowing blue. Credence felt his mouth fall open in horror, his sweaty grasp tightening on the tiny pair of pruning shears in his hand, as if they would provide any sort of protection against three massive beasts controlled by a power-hungry madman. Grimm was snarling, low and furious, a deep rumbling growl that Credence had never heard before, reverberating down the hill. 

A warning. Or perhaps a challenge.

“No,” he whispered. “Grimm, hurry, let’s… try and get back inside the wards…” He started to run, stumbling back the way they’d come, but Grimm didn’t move, still poised staring, every muscle in his body tense. “Grimm!” he cried, panicked. “Please!”

The wolf, visibly agitated, turned to look at Credence over his shoulder, and in that moment the other three beasts sprang into motion, flowing up the hill as smoothly as water, silent and synchronized. “No!” Credence shouted, the pruning shears falling to the ground as he frantically sprinted back toward Grimm, his legs eating up the distance in a surreal blur as he watched the three wolves fall upon his friend in a mass of snarling fur and teeth. The sound they made was awful, an unnatural grinding shriek as they tried to pin him with their jaws, Grimm lashing out and twisting away before knocking one of them down the slope with a powerful swipe of his heavy foreleg. The blue-eyed wolf he’d struck got back up without so much as a whimper and charged back into the fray, despite the fact it appeared to be limping.

Oh, this was even more horrible than he could ever have imagined. They didn’t have free will anymore, Credence realized, panicked. Pain meant nothing. They would keep attacking no matter what.

And then one of the wolves was leaping at him, and Grimm’s growl turned into a whine, and Credence might have been screaming. Credence threw himself out of the way, the wolf’s claws missing him by a hair, his knees thudding painfully into the ground as he rolled through the parsley and the grass, scraping his hands on a sharp rock and leaving a deep, stinging gash.

When he righted himself, there was a sprig of parsley in his bloodied palm. He didn’t stop to think, just clutched it tighter and heaved himself frantically to his feet, staggering toward where Grimm was snarling weakly, claw marks bleeding sluggishly on his shoulder, dodging the snapping jaws of the other wolves as they herded him gradually toward the forest.

“ _No!_ ” Credence screamed, desperation fueling him, the parsley stinging in his hand, pain and anger and sharp green clarity. He pictured Newt, the confident flick of his wand.

“ _Leave him alone!_ ” The first flick of Credence’s wrist flung a wall of pressurized air into one of the wolves as it charged at him for the second time, sending it skidding down the hill toward the forest, claws scrabbling. But it got up again, of course, and came bounding up the slope, cornering them from all sides. With a wordless scream of frustration, Credence clenched his fist, dark blood on fresh leaves.

“Go AWAY!”

This time, the sky rumbled, the clouds growing darker. The wind was whipping around him now, fizzing with humid electricity. The wolves snarled and the hillside shook.

“ _GO AWAY!_ ” he shrieked, shrill and frantic, and a sudden bolt of lightning came crackling down through the air, slamming into the ground in front of the three wolves and sending them tumbling down the hill and into the trees. There was a sizzling charred gash left behind in the meadow, rich and black, the air smoking with the sharp odor of ozone and ash and scorched rock. 

In the shivering silence that followed, Credence’s panting breath sounded impossibly loudly in his ears. Across the grass, Grimm was trying to pull himself to his feet, his foreleg and injured shoulder crumpling under the weight. Credence scrambled to the wolf’s side.

“Oh, please, please be alright. It’ll be alright, come on, we’ve got to go,” he murmured, his hands shaking as he tried uselessly to lift the wolf’s massive bulk. Grimm managed a few staggering steps, his tongue lolling and his breath coming in harsh pants. Then his nose was against Credence’s chest, nudging him away. 

“No,” Credence said thickly. “I’m not leaving without you. Not a chance.”

But the three wolves were creeping out of the forest again, their fur scorched and their eyes still bright. Credence tasted bile and panic in the back of his throat. He scooped his arms under Grimm’s ribs, picturing the couch lifting clear off the floor earlier, light as air.

There was no option for this not to work.

“ _Please_ ,” he sobbed.

It worked. One moment he was heaving the massive wolf upward, and the next second Grimm was suddenly weightless, draped over Credence’s shoulder. And then Credence was running, faster than a deer, a mad sprint. He could hear the wolves giving chase, jaws snapping, the hillside a blur of color and sound and fear. 

And then Newt was there, very suddenly, dashing toward him out of nowhere, his face white, shouting something. _Immobulus! Obliviate! Stupefy!_ There was a burst of light from his wand, and the sound of paws on grass fell silent, and then the two of them were both racing back up to the reassuring bulk of the castle.

“Ariel, we’re moving, _now_ ,” Newt shouted, his voice hard. “Take us to the rock in the middle of the river.”

“Aye, Captain,” said the wooden figurehead grimly, the door between the castle’s squat feet flying open ahead of them as they charged inside. Credence’s heart was pounding, adrenaline pumping like thunder and acid in his veins as he shakily set Grimm down on the couch and sank to his knees. Mira watched wide-eyed from the stairs as Newt rushed wordlessly to the window, his wand clutched in his fist and his expression tight with anger, the hand that gripped the sill white-knuckled. His usually gentle features were drawn in harsh, upset lines, and his eyes were dark as he watched the castle pick up speed, flying over the ground at a galloping dash.

“Good,” the wizard said, “they aren’t following. Out cold, hopefully without any memory of seeing us.”

Oh, lord. Credence hadn’t even thought about the consequences, the danger…

Grimm licked Credence’s cheek, and he realized he was crying. Was Newt going to kick them out now, for being so careless, for endangering the castle, the creatures, endangering Mira? 

How had Credence been so damnably _foolish_? 

He had gotten used to their walks, had forgotten the careful warding and preparation that Newt had to do beforehand to ensure their entire route was hidden, protected. Credence sniffled, pressing trembling fingers against the lacerations in Grimm’s shoulder, tears blurring his vision, willing the wounds to close, to knit together, just like when Tina had healed his hand. 

It didn’t work. Instead, his whole body suddenly felt heavy and painful, his eyes burning.

“Newt.” Ariel’s voice was subdued but insistent.

“What,” the wizard snapped, his voice uncharacteristically icy.

“You can be angry with me later,” she said firmly. “Right now Credence needs you to heal his wolf, or else he’s going to pass out trying to do it himself.”

Grimm’s furry face swam before Credence’s eyes as he stubbornly pressed his hand against the creature’s bloodied shoulder.

“Merlin,” he heard, a soft murmur of alarm. There were arms around him, gentle fingers on his wrist. “No, no, sweetheart, I’ll take care of him. See?” Newt’s breath was warm against his cheek, his voice painfully tender. There was his wand, the tip sliding over Grimm’s fur, gashes knitting back together.

“Oh,” Credence breathed, his head lolling limply on Newt’s shoulder. “You’re good at that. Jus’ like Tina.”

“Tina? You saw her do a healing spell?” Newt asked. The couch was suddenly wider, the world tipped sideways, a pillow under his head. When had he lain down?

“Mmhm,” he breathed, staring at the gash on his hand. “She fix’d me.”

Newt’s grip was reassuringly firm as he uncurled Credence’s fingers, the wand trailing over his bloody palm and leaving smooth unblemished skin behind. “Did she? When was that?” His voice was quiet, and Credence’s eyelids were heavy.

“When I got here,” Credence mumbled. “You know. Cause of… I was late… from meeting you, that first night. Had scabs from the belt on my hand.” His head felt thick and vague, his cheek scrunched against the pillow. “S’Grimm okay?” he slurred.

“Credence,” Newt sounded upset. “What? That night, you… what _belt?_ Oh, _Merlin_.” There was a hand stroking his face, brushing back his hair. “Yes, Grimm’s okay. He’s fine, and I’m going to make sure he stays that way, and you as well. Don’t worry about anything, darling, just relax and get your strength back. You’ve exhausted yourself. Everyone is safe now. I’m going to go fetch you a potion.”

There were footsteps, then, and Newt’s soft voice on the stairs reassuring Mira, and Grimm’s nose against Credence’s cheek.

But Credence fell asleep too fast to hear Newt return, already sunk deep into welcoming velvety darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! Thank you so much for your patience again, I had an unexpectedly bumpy week. Maybe I jinxed myself after the last chapter by saying things had calmed down... :P But my reward is that I finally got to sit down this evening and finish editing this for you! I'm so excited to share it! Thank you so, so much for all your comments on the last chapter - I look forward to responding to them, I should have time to do that tomorrow!! Right now I'm gonna get some sleep ♥ ♥ ♥


	6. Washed Clean

Credence felt as if he were floating, warm and confused, bundled in a cloud of something soft. There were hushed voices coming from somewhere behind him, and the smell of cinnamon was tickling his nose.

“…and, what, you didn’t think to mention that to me?”

The hissed whisper sounded like Newt.

“Well,” someone replied, “how should I have guessed you’d want to know?” That was definitely Ariel. “Sure, I saw Tina fix it up for him, but I didn’t know it was important. I didn’t hear how he hurt his hand in the first place, alright? He didn’t say!”

“A _belt_ …” Newt breathed. “Good grief, what sort of person does a thing like that? Just for coming home late?” He sounded choked, his words rough and upset. “It was my fault, then. All of this. I thought I was doing the right thing, letting him go home alone that first night... I was trying to keep him _out_ of danger, not send him right toward it! _Merlin_ , I just wish…” He let out a wordless noise of anger, and there was the sound of a shoe kicking something, possibly the bottom stair. “I should’ve… _ow_. Should’ve just swept him off with me straightaway, not sent him back there to be beaten and cursed. Whoever was punishing him must’ve taken away his rosemary, and then… of course… there he was with a target on his back, a target _I_ put there! And… _shite_.” There was a quiet thud, like perhaps he’d let his head fall against the wall.

“Newt, you couldn’t have known this would happen,” Ariel put in quietly. 

“Well, I bloody well could’ve done a better job of protecting him, couldn’t I?” Newt countered sharply. “First I let him get cursed, and now he’s been attacked by wolves! And Ariel, what on earth were you thinking, stopping the castle without checking with me first?”

“Ah,” the nymph coughed. “Right. Still angry about that, then?”

“I should think so,” the wizard replied, slow and stiff. “You could’ve at least told Credence precisely where the ward boundary was, to ensure he _would not cross it_. Do I need to remind you how dangerous it is out there? What if those wolves had dragged Credence off, taken him to the Wizard of the Waste? Ariel, we would have _lost_ him, lost both of them!” 

“I realize that now.” Ariel sounded subdued, upset. “I… Newt, I really didn’t think they would wander so far. They were just after a bit of parsley.”

At this, there was a muffled sob from the direction of the top of the stairs.

“Oh, darling.” Newt’s voice was suddenly soft and gentle, followed by a rustle of cloth. “Mira, I thought you had gone up to your room! Shh, no, none of that, now. Come here. They’re both okay, see?”

Mira sniffled, her footsteps traveling down the stairs. “It was my fault,” she mumbled, hiccuping. “I’m s-sorry. They only went because of me.” There was a crinkle of fabric, and her voice grew slightly muffled, perhaps by Newt’s shoulder. “I asked Credence to make soup.”

“Sweetheart,” Newt said tenderly, sighing. “There’s nothing for you to feel guilty for. And Ariel, I… look, I’m sorry. Ultimately, I’m responsible. I should’ve given them a clearer warning of where not to go.” There was a swish of cloth and another quiet sniffle from Mira. “Grimm, did the other wolves have no smell? I would’ve imagined your nose might help protect you, but perhaps Grindelwald thought of that.”

Credence felt a soft whine vibrate against his chest, and he drowsily realized Grimm’s heavy head was resting there, his furry body radiating heat against Credence’s side.

“Oh, it’s not your fault either,” Newt murmured. “No need to look so forlorn.” Footfalls sounded, coming closer, and then the soft noise of fingers brushing through fur. “Credence is right here, he’s safe. You were very brave, darling.” 

This didn’t seem to satisfy the wolf. There was another quiet, plaintive whimper.

“Yes,” the wizard sighed, “I understand you’re still upset. That was an uncomfortably close call.” There were more fur-petting sounds, and a heavy exhale. “If Credence hadn’t called down a lightning bolt, I wouldn’t even have known the two of you were in danger. Merlin, I had no idea his magic was this advanced yet, I had only just begun planning how we might wake his powers if he decided he was ready.” 

There was a quiet cough from the direction of the mantel. 

“Ariel?” Newt asked, his voice tight. “Something else you wanted to tell me?”

There was a pause, a loaded silence. “I was going to mention it,” Ariel began hesitantly, “really, I was. He’s an impressively quick learner, but he’s dreadfully new to all this. I think he needs your help.”

“Ah,” Newt said flatly. “You helped him spark his magic, didn’t you? And you took it upon yourself to begin teaching him. All without informing me.” His voice was heavily unhappy, his footsteps turning away to pace the length of the room. “Ariel, he could’ve _killed_ himself, with the wrong spell. Gone too far, burned up too much energy. Haven’t you seen how careful I am with Mira, to pace her and build her endurance, keep her from practicing too long? What were you thinking? He’s a student who needs a teacher, not an amusing new sprite for you to play with! And you can’t be his teacher, Ariel, you don’t understand his limits! Merlin’s beard, you aren’t even _human_.” Newt’s voice crackled with worry.

“No, I’m not human,” Ariel argued, “but that doesn’t mean I can’t help! I’ve lived for centuries, and I know quite a bit about magic, _Captain_ , seeing as I am a magical creature myself.” She sounded a pinch angry. “Anyway, the boy isn’t human either.”

What? Credence struggled against the cobwebs of unconsciousness still muffling his mind, bewildered and half-asleep. Grimm’s head lifted off his chest, listening silently.

“No?” Newt sounded incredulous. 

“Not fully, anyway. You think a human wizard with no training could call down fire from the sky the first day he starts practicing?” Ariel scoffed. “He’s got elemental magic, Newt. I watched him try the spell you were teaching Mira last night, lighting the fire in the grate. Did it with no wand, without saying a word. Your usual lessons aren’t going to work for him.”

Huh?

Credence blearily squinted his eyes open a crack, his field of vision taken up by Grimm’s furry chin.

“Come on,” Ariel continued intently. “Didn’t it seem odd to you that he was able to put the first fracture in a multi-layer dark enchantment within a _week_ of arriving here? Advanced curse breaking like that can take years for a trained wizard! It should’ve been unthinkable for a novice, even with all those special cups of tea you’ve been brewing to help him. That boy started off as cursed as a hare in a foxhole, and now look at him! _He_ did that, virtually all by himself, and you think he’s human?”

Credence couldn’t quite wrap his head around what he was hearing. He felt heavy, the world blanketed in cottony-soft confusion. He peeked groggily over at Newt, who was frowning, the corner of his face just visible behind Grimm’s dark head. 

“It did start wavering awfully quickly,” the wizard said. “I didn’t want to question it, or throw him off whatever he was doing that was working.” Newt turned back toward the couch, and Credence quickly let his eyes fall shut again, trying to look asleep. It wasn’t difficult; fatigue still dragged at him, quiet and persistent. “You think he’s… what else would he be, other than human?” 

“Well, I don’t know, do I?” Ariel countered. “But he sure as heck isn’t regular old flesh and blood. He chipped away at that curse with nothing but patience and optimism and sheer force of will, like a sandy breeze eroding a rock. It’s a rare human that can do that, even with defensive magical training. Hey, maybe he’s got some wind spirit in him! Those Sylphs have been known to enjoy a cross-species romp every once in a while,” she chortled. “I should know.”

“Ariel,” Newt said in disapproval. 

“Yes, alright, fine, no crude language, children present. But you see my point,” the nymph said. “There’s more at work here than we understand, and more to Credence than meets the eye, wouldn’t you say?”

The wizard was quiet for a moment, perhaps analyzing Credence’s face. Credence was listening closely, though he could feel himself slowly sliding back toward slumber, tempting and inevitable.

“I suppose so,” Newt was murmuring, his voice pleasantly soothing. Credence’s breathing deepened. “And I suppose,” he said heavily, “seeing as you are an elemental spirit, and he may be an elemental mage, you’d better have a hand in his education. But no more sneaking around, you hear me? I will set the pace from now on.”

“Got it. Loud and clear, Captain,” Ariel said.

“Good.” There was the creak of a floorboard. “We can start as soon as he’s feeling up to it. Well,” the wizard sighed, “at least, assuming he chooses to learn from me. He may decide to seek out another mentor now that his magic is awake,” he said. “He doesn’t have many reasons to want me as a teacher; I haven’t exactly been much help to him so far. He’s gotten hurt twice on my watch, and I could barely help him with his curse.” He sounded deeply regretful, soft and sad.

“Oh, don’t mope,” Ariel countered. “He’ll understand. You know as well as I do that if we had tried to meddle too much we only would’ve mucked things up further. A curse like that always has some sort of nasty hidden caveat; it probably would’ve gotten stronger with any outside attempts to remove it. Grindel-wanker loves that sort of thing, the more convoluted the better.”

That did sound like the sort of thing the Wizard of the Waste would do, just to be cruel. Credence was still trying to pay attention, in the small corner of his mind that was still awake. He could feel his thoughts thickening like molasses, slow and lumbering. 

“Still,” Newt continued. “I didn’t like keeping mum for so long. He must’ve felt so desperate for information.”

“What, and giving him all the gritty details would’ve solved everything?” Ariel asked sternly. “Oh yes, Credence, there’s a parasitical cloud of curse magic suppressing your life force, but try not to worry about it or it’ll feed on your despair and get worse!” She sounded frustrated. “Bit tricky trying to maintain your optimism and perseverance when you’re imagining that.”

Ugh. Was that how the curse worked? The realization should’ve been alarming, but instead it swirled against Credence’s calm mind like a rippling tide, silvery and strange. He knew what he was hearing was important, but everything felt dampened by the knowledge that Newt was watching over him, gentle and safe. Credence was hovering on the edge of unconsciousness, serene, his body perfectly relaxed.

“It was a nasty piece of wizardry,” Newt said. 

“Absolutely disgusting,” Ariel declared. “But then, all of Grindelwald’s spellwork is vile. You remember what he did to that sorcerer from Uplich? Splitting him into two people? He's always been hungry to try all sorts of dark magic. His curses are twisted and carnivorous, just like he is, the old scrounger, always gnawing and never satisfied. He’s such a creep.”

Nearby Credence’s ear, Grimm made a soft sound, possibly of agreement. 

“And a _fool_ ,” Newt added, his voice dark and hollow. “For all the power he has, he doesn’t understand anything about the gentler forces in this world. It was clumsily done, really.” He huffed a dry laugh. “He didn’t stop to consider the effect of Credence’s courage and resilience, even in the midst of all of this.” He sounded a little bit proud.

“No, he didn’t,” Ariel said, with a hint of a smirk in her tone. “Probably because that bitter leech has never once been courageous or resilient in his life,” she remarked. “He’s never learned to put value in strength of character; he’d rather sneak in the shadows and steal what he’s too impatient to earn. Or _eat_ what he has no right to consume.”

Grimm’s furry body was very warm against Credence’s side, the wolf’s ribs expanding and relaxing slowly against him. He didn’t think he could cling to awareness for much longer.

“Ugh,” Newt replied softly. His voice was muffled, as if he were rubbing a hand over his face. “Enough about him.” There was a squeak of wood, footsteps coming closer. “His curse was no match for Credence, anyway.”

“Nope, our boy took care of that pretty handily on his own,” Ariel said.

“He certainly did,” Newt replied softly. 

“Mmm. But you’re still moping,” Ariel pointed out, “I can see it from here, Captain. Stop that. You know there was nothing else we could’ve done to speed up the process.” 

Newt was standing close enough that Credence could hear him breathing. “I suppose you’re right,” the wizard said, his voice little more than a whisper. “Hope was all he really needed. Authentic, innocent hope. No reason to slow him down by telling him this should’ve been impossible. The limits of possibility only constrain us if we expect them to.” There was a subtle pressure of fingers stroking Credence’s hair, trailing across his cheek.

“Couldn’t agree more,” Ariel said. "It was an impressive feat, that's for sure."

“He’s a miracle,” Newt murmured. “The curse was meant to sustain itself on his misery and despair, but he managed not to give it any.” He tucked a lock of hair carefully behind Credence’s ear.

It was quiet for a moment, and Credence could hear the air whistling past the open window, the comforting rhythm of Grimm’s exhales next to him, slow and even. The soft drag of the wizard’s hand through his hair felt very nice, gentle and affectionate. 

Everything felt delicate and warm, saturated with a tender feeling of safety, and he fell back over the edge of unconsciousness at last. Sleep tugged him under, victorious and kind, and then the world was deep and silent and still.

 

When Credence next opened his eyes, Grimm was snoring, sprawled heavily across him, and the light of the sun outside was slanting in long late stripes across the room. There was a soft gasp, then footsteps running across the hearth rug, and Credence turned his head to see at Mira looming over him.

“You’re awake!” she cried, as he struggled up into a seated positon. Grimm grunted as he was dislodged from his pillow, blinking drowsily. The bowtruckle made a strategic retreat up onto Mira’s curly head as she flung her arms around Credence’s neck, her cheek tacky with dried tears where it brushed against his jaw. “Oh, that was so…” she mumbled, clinging to him. “That was so scary.”

Credence took a deep breath, shaking off the last clinging tendrils of sleep, grounded by the reassuringly real feeling of her small fingers gripping his shirt, the sharp point of her chin poking him in the shoulder. “I’m really sorry I made you worry,” he said, hushed, rubbing a hand over her back. “And Newt…”

The wizard looked like he’d been reading at the kitchen table, but had risen anxiously from his seat at Mira’s pronouncement, his green eyes fixed on Credence. 

“I… I’m so sorry,” Credence continued. “I wasn’t thinking. I was so foolish, I forgot all about the wards, I…”

“It’s alright,” Newt said softly, his posture immediately easing. “As long as you’re safe, there’s no harm done.” There was a steaming goblet on the table that Credence hadn’t noticed before, and the wizard scooped it up in one long-fingered hand. “What matters is that we’re going to be more careful from now on. All of us.” He brought the potion over to the couch, his expression gentle. “How are you feeling? Any headache?”

“No,” Credence answered, blinking. He still felt a little groggy, but otherwise he felt even better than he had this morning, settled, like that strange unsteady pressure under his skin had released itself. His overeager magic had calmed down. “I feel fine.”

Still, Newt insisted on checking him over, his palm dry and warm as he pressed it to Credence’s forehead and then measured the pulse beating in his throat. It felt… very nice. And faintly familiar. Had Newt been stroking his face earlier? Credence thought he could recall something like that, unless it had only been his imagination playing tricks on him in the bleary grey fog on the edge of sleep. 

But, no, he was pretty sure that hadn’t been a dream. Newt had been stroking his hair, talking with Ariel, and… they had been discussing him, hadn’t they? His magic, his lessons, his _curse_ …

“That’s a good sign,” Newt said. “No symptoms of fever, or inflammation. But just to be safe, I’d like you to drink this.” He was holding out the goblet of potion.

Credence blinked at him, his memory slowly becoming clearer. Newt and Ariel had _known_ about the curse, and Newt had been trying to help him, had brewed him special tea… 

“It tastes quite nice, I promise,” the wizard prompted, when Credence just sat there dumbly, staring. Newt smiled encouragingly, his eyes crinkling.

“Thank you,” Credence managed hoarsely, taking the potion. Anything Newt gave him was bound to be helpful, after all.

The smoking goblet contained a liquid whose flavor reminded Credence of cinnamon candy, from his distant memory of the one occasion he’d gotten to try a piece. It filled his entire body with a tingling spicy warmth, and he gasped as a sudden gout of steam billowed out of his ears. 

“Oh!”

Mira grinned, her eyelashes still a little wet. “Don’t worry, that’s normal,” she told him. “Mom gives me pepperup when I’ve been caught out in the rain. Feels funny, doesn’t it?”

Credence nodded, rubbing at his ears. Grimm, pressed against his side, squinted adorably at him with little droplets of moisture from the steam decorating the fur on his snout.

“It helps you get warm, and gives you your energy back,” Mira explained.

That made sense. Credence was feeling clearer-headed already, alert and refreshed. It was flooding back to him now, the other part of the conversation he’d overheard while dozing. The part where Ariel had said she didn’t think he was _human_.

But that couldn’t be right.

“Let me know if you’d like another dose later, Credence,” Newt said, running an affectionate finger over Grimm’s nose and then taking the empty goblet over to the sink. “Or anything else I can fix for you. I expect we’ll be at the river in another half hour, and you should feel free to keep resting. You are under no obligation to make dinner still, in fact we can postpone, I just need to send word to–”

“No, no, please,” Credence said, stubbornly heaving himself to standing. The world swayed a bit, just for a second, and then his head cleared. “You don’t have to cancel, I… I can do it. I want to make the soup. Let’s still have the dinner, I want to officially meet Mira’s parents.” 

Mira looked up at him, surprised, her eyes wide with excitement. Credence grinned softly at her. She deserved a visit with her family, especially after how upset she’d been earlier, all because of his mistake.

And Credence himself needed something to do with his hands, needed to feel the calm of a routine. Because his mind felt like it was going in circles.

Not human? 

No, he couldn’t be.

Newt still looked doubtful. “Are you sure?” he asked. “Credence, I can fix something for our guests, let you sleep some more.”

But Credence was shaking his head. “No, I… I’d really like to cook. I might as well, considering how much trouble this ended up causing.” He brandished the bag of parsley clippings still wound innocuously around his torso, slightly crushed but still usable. “Be silly not to use it.” He was aiming for humor, a little shaky and tentative.

He was rewarded with Newt’s strained smile and a quiet nod. “So it would, I suppose. If you’re sure you’re up for it.”

 

The wizard may have accepted Credence’s determination to cook despite his ordeal, but that didn’t stop him from watching like a hawk the entire time he was working on dinner. 

“Really, I’m fine,” Credence said softly, the fifth time he caught Newt staring at him in concern over the book he was not-so-convincingly pretending to read at the kitchen table.

The man cleared his throat. “Right,” he said. “Er, yes. I was just… looking to see how the soup was coming.”

Bemused, Credence turned back to the cutting board. “Ah,” he said. “Yes, the soup. It’s coming along very nicely.” The knife made a pleasantly crisp noise as he chopped up the parsley, adding the herb to the simmering pot of carrots, onions and potatoes. 

“Oh, good,” Newt murmured, still watching him.

Credence tactfully decided not to call him on it, smiling as he leaned over the stove and to check the heat. Outside the window, the hills were whipping by as the castle sprinted across the ground, a smear of green and gold. The sunlight gleamed on Grimm’s black fur where he sat by the cabinets, out of the way but still close by, his soulful dark eyes tracking Credence’s movements. 

It would seem Newt wasn’t the only one set on supervising him as he cooked.

“Grimm,” Credence murmured, “you don’t have to worry. Nothing’s going to happen to me right here.” 

He knelt, offering the animal a scratch behind the ears and a crunchy piece of carrot. Grimm accepted both, but only after he’d snuffled his cold nose against Credence’s cheek.

“Oh, okay,” Credence whispered. “I appreciate your concern. I’m alright.” Fondly, Credence stroked the wolf’s shoulder and rose to his feet again. 

It was peaceful in the warm kitchen, working at the stove. The panic from this afternoon felt distant and obscured, like a bad dream. He added the barley to the soup, stirring it in with a wooden spoon, glancing out the window at the sky and the blur of trees. The castle had almost reached the foot of the mountain now, the glacier thick and white above them, and there was a river flowing swiftly down the hill, born out of the melting spring run-off, cold and fresh. The water rode high in the river bed, swollen and wide this time of year. As they drew nearer, Credence could see that there was a small rocky island in the middle of its widest point, where the river split smoothly around a low craggy mound.

“Going in!” Ariel announced suddenly, with audible glee. “Ladies and gentlemen, hold on to your hats!”

Credence gasped and clutched the kitchen counter as the castle walked right into the water, the powerful current passing just feet below the open window. They waded through the river for a few breathless moments, before Ariel crawled her way, dripping, up onto the rock in the middle. The castle settled down, perched there like a hen bedding in the straw for the night, surrounded by the rushing of the white water.

“Oh, wow,” Credence breathed, tentatively poking his head out over the violets in the window box, nearly deafened by the roar of the current. The icy spray misted against his cheeks, the smell of snow and pine carried on the bracingly cold air. “It’s beautiful.”

He’d never seen the river up this high before, so clean and new and powerful. By the time it got down into the valley it was calm and meandering, its silty bottom waving lazily with algae and muddy green lilies. This was raw and fearsome, a breathtaking sight to behold.

“You like that, huh? Feels like home?” Ariel said from her painting, when Credence had pulled his head back inside. “Maybe your mother was a Naiad. Although that doesn’t really fit with your aptitude for making fire.”

Credence stared at her, unsure what to say to that. His real mother, whoever she was, had died before he could remember and left him nothing but mostly-forgotten dreams. And Ma hadn’t exactly encouraged questions about the past.

“I… I don’t know,” he said, hurriedly turning back to the cooking. Could Credence really be something as otherworldly as that? A… a _water creature?_ The thought made him faintly uncomfortable, in a habitual, bitter way. Ma would’ve been disgusted at the very idea. 

_An abomination_.

Credence gave the soup a particularly violent stir, pushing that hate-filled voice out of his mind.

Ma wasn’t _here_. And he didn’t give a shrivelfig about her opinion.

Still, he couldn’t help but think Ariel was wrong; he was just plain, boring human Credence, wasn’t he?

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Newt still watching him quietly from the table, his book open in front of him, while Mira swung her legs back and forth off the seat of her chair, kicking the table leg. _Thunk… thunk… thunk..._

“Darling,” the wizard said patiently, “are you feeling restless? I’m afraid there will be no more venturing outside for a while. We’ll have to find another way for you to burn off some energy, maybe go ride the broom through Frank’s habitat. What do you think?”

“Really?” she chirped excitedly, the little bowtruckle watching curiously from his nest in her hair. “Can I? I promise not to go more than five feet up!”

“That’s my girl. Yes, go ahead, in Frank’s area only. Your parents will be here in an hour, so be sure to stop in time to wash up. And give this to the niffler if she tries to sneak out.” Newt handed her a small shiny coin made of bronze, with the Queen’s eagle stamped on it, the same as the wax seal on the royal summons. A trickle of memory stirred in the back of Credence’s mind. Had Newt received any further word from the palace since that first letter?

But that question would have to wait. 

“An hour,” he breathed, feeling suddenly harried. “Right.” Credence turned off the stove, leaving the soup to thicken in its pot, then looked down and ran his palms over his thighs. 

Good grief. His trousers were ripped at the knee and covered with grass stains, and his elbows were smudged with dirt! And Credence himself was itchy with dry sweat and the lingering oily residue of fear.

“Merciful heaven, I really must have a bath."

 

Newt seemed reluctant to let Credence out of his sight, but there was no denying that he needed a bit of freshening up before their company arrived. Dinnertime ticked closer as Credence dashed upstairs, Grimm a quiet shadow at his heels.

The washroom was a masterpiece of blue tile, with a mosaicked floor around a sunken tub, all of it scrubbed diligently clean by Credence’s mop. He hung his bathrobe on the hook by the door and twisted the heavy bronze taps, steaming hot water issuing forth in a gush of herb-scented steam and filling the cavernous bath in a matter of minutes. 

_Hot water_ , he thought, still amazed after several weeks of witnessing this mind-boggling luxury. Hot _running_ water. 

Credence turned, sliding his shirt off, and saw that Grimm was sitting stiffly in the corner, looking down at the floor.

“What’s the matter?” Credence asked, yanking his boots off and unbuttoning his trousers and union suit. The wolf settled down on the tiles, his head on his paws, pointedly looking away from Credence’s nudity. “Oh, I see,” he said, amused. “You’re being polite. What a gentleman.”

The water was just as lovely as it looked, bone-meltingly relaxing and scented faintly with sage and lemongrass. Credence let out a deep sigh as he sank in up to his chin, the tension leaving his muscles as the heat seeped through his body. He allowed himself to savor it for a few moments before dunking his head under the water, his hair swirling.

_Oh._

The water poured off him in a sudden cascade as he rose out of the bath again, staring down at himself. He’d been so focused on the tempting heat of the water that he hadn’t even _looked_ …

“Oh, my God,” Credence said weakly, afraid to blink lest this prove to be a dream. “Oh, thank heaven.”

 _That_ was what he was supposed to look like. He was lean and strong, smooth skin and firm muscle, the same body he remembered from before his life had turned upside down. 

Well, nearly the same. His ribs were less prominent than they used to be. 

“Oh,” he breathed again, not sure whether he entirely understood how this was possible. Ariel’s explanation hadn’t really made sense. Credence had fractured the curse on his own? What, just with positive thinking?

But whatever he had done, there could be no question that it had worked. He felt wonderful, transformed, renewed. The first time he’d taken a bath in the castle, he’d been bony and hunched, limbs stiff with age, his skin weathered and wrinkled. He’d felt like a craggy old mountain, sinking into the sea. Now, he clumsily sloshed his way out of the tub and wrapped a towel around his hips, wandering in shock over to the tiny mirror set on the wall in the corner. 

There he was. His hair was still silver, for some reason, long and thick and shiny, but that was his face. That was _his_ face. Finally.

“It’s broken,” he whispered. “The curse is br-” He froze, touching his fingers to his lips experimentally. There was no invisible force twisting the words out of his mouth! “The curse is broken!” he gasped. “Grimm, Grimm, it’s gone, it’s really gone!”

The wolf watched with indulgent patience as Credence flailed in excitement, almost slipping on the wet tile floor in his haste to spin around in front of the mirror and check every inch of himself. There were lashing scars, of course, on his back, unpleasantly familiar, but he was so relieved he almost didn’t care.

“Can you believe it?” he asked excitedly, kneeling down beside Grimm and cupping his furry face with both hands. “Grimm, I’m me again! Except the hair, I think it must be stuck this way. But that’s alright, I kind of like it. What do you think?”

The wolf licked his cheek, his eyes steady and serious. 

“You like it too?” Credence whispered, grinning. “Oh, good.” 

Grimm looked back at him, inscrutable as ever, though there was something hopeful about the cant of his ears.

“Or are you trying to tell me something?” Credence asked breathlessly. “Is there something else? Something you want me to do?”

The animal’s gaze sharpened, his ears perking up, his nose nudging Credence’s face.

“That must be a yes.”

The wolf’s tail flicked eagerly and he licked Credence again, very delicately, right at the corner of his mouth, then pulled away to watch him expectantly. 

Credence stared back, trying to guess what the creature was thinking, momentarily at a loss. Grimm seemed his usual self, as far as he could tell, his dark eyes clear and his fur thick and fluffy. Although, that fur _was_ shedding all over Credence’s wet skin, clumps of it sticking to the damp floor and creating mats in Grimm’s coat, rumpling the wolf’s normally tidy appearance. In all honesty, he looked a bit of a mess.

“Oh! Of course!”

How rude of him not to offer this in the first place!

“Do you want a bath too?” Credence asked. 

The wolf looked at him slowly, blinking. 

“I can do that!” he went on. “I suppose I was assuming that it was beneath your dignity as a wild creature to have someone bathe you, but if you want to, I promise to be gentle. And I bet it will feel nice.”

Grimm was giving him a look he couldn’t quite identify, perhaps affectionate, perhaps exasperated. But he seemed to decide to accept the offer. The creature let out a soft huff, then flicked his tail, nudging Credence’s bare shoulder with his nose and staring pointedly at the tub.

“Me first?” Credence asked. “Right, that’s probably a good idea. Your fur is going to get _everywhere_.”

 

That was not an understatement. 

Once Credence had scrubbed himself clean from head to toe and wrapped himself in a fluffy robe, he filled the tub afresh and did his best to give Grimm the same treatment, which did indeed seem to feel very nice. The wolf’s eyes drifted blissfully closed while Credence massaged shampoo into the ruff of fur on his chest and down his back. 

Afterward, it took draining the tub and then pouring several buckets full of fresh hot water over his dark head to rinse all the foam away, but in the end Grimm looked quite happy to be clean, the crusty dried blood and accumulated dust and mud washed off, leaving him smelling of sweet fresh herbs.

Getting him dry, on the other hand, was an absolute mess. Credence did his best with a thick towel, which was immediately covered with dark shedding fur, and then Grimm gave a mighty shake which sprayed the room with droplets of moisture and damp wolf hair.

“Oh, boy,” Credence said. “Well, I guess that was more effective than the towel.” The wolf still looked like a wrung-out mop, though. What they really needed, he thought, was Newt’s drying spell, and then a couple rounds with the comb to drag out the last loose bits of Grimm’s winter coat. For a moment, he was tempted to see if he could make the spell work himself… but he didn’t want to be too reckless with magic he wasn’t sure he was ready for. He had already made enough foolish mistakes today.

Instead, he poked his head out the door into the hall. “Newt?” he called down the stairs.

Immediately, there was a thud and a clatter, and Newt came sprinting up the steps, wand in hand, looking as if he was ready to fight off an invasion of wolves and shadow-creatures.

“Oh! Oh, I’m sorry!” Credence said, “I didn’t mean to alarm you. There’s nothing wrong, I’ve just given Grimm a bath and I wondered if you could… help me dry him off. That handy spell of yours?”

“Ah!” Newt’s cheeks were slowly flushing a ruddy pink, and his eyes seemed to catch helplessly on Credence’s bare calves under the hem of the bath robe and stay locked there. “Er, quite. Yes, of course. I can do that.”

With some shuffling, they slipped back into the washroom where Grimm was waiting, his fur adorably spiked up into little points and his dark shoulders slumped in disgruntlement.

“Thank you for your patience,” Credence murmured, kneeling at his side and stroking his ears. “I’m sorry, I’m guessing this part isn’t particularly comfortable. But we’ll have you back to looking like your handsome self in no time.” Grimm looked at him, dark eyes serious, and licked his wrist.

Newt was watching the two of them fondly, his cheeks still stained slightly pink, and Credence hurriedly moved out of his way, watching the flex of the wizard’s freckled forearm under his rolled-up sleeve as he waved his wand at Grimm. In the next moment, the wolf was completely dry, his fur fluffing out like a startled cat, frizzing hilariously around his face.

“Oh, darling, my apologies, I didn’t realize it would do that,” whispered Newt, sounding as if he was trying not to laugh.

Grimm turned to gaze at Credence, dark eyes mournful. “No, no, it’s alright,” Credence hastily reassured him. “I’m sure it will smooth down again with the brush, you’ll see. And at least you’re dry now.” 

The wolf still looked unhappy, but he followed Credence into the hallway willingly enough. Leaving Newt smiling in bemusement, Credence led Grimm into his bedroom to comb as much of the loose fur out as possible, petting the rest of it back into shape. 

The entire process did a great deal of good. The wolf seemed much happier once his coat was sleek and tidy once more, looking very glossy without the tufts of winter under-coat floating about. Credence gathered the discarded fur in his hands, a large fluffy bundle, and tucked it away to give to the occamys for their nest. Then he resumed scratching his fingers down Grimm’s spine for a while longer, unable to stop himself from cuddling against the wolf as if he were a sweet little housecat.

“I know you aren’t a pet, and I don’t mean to treat you like one,” he murmured, “but I think this must feel good, for you as well as me.” The animal’s eyes were half-lidded and sleepy, docile and content. “And I just… I wanted to tell you how grateful I am that you’re alright. That we’re both alright.” He scratched behind Grimm’s ears. “But especially… I think you were trying to distract them, weren’t you? Those other wolves. You challenged them because you wanted to give me time to run. Which was very brave, and also very stupid.” Credence pressed his nose against Grimm’s snout, watching the wolf’s dark eyes blink open. “I appreciate you trying to protect me, but not if it means sacrificing yourself. That’s not how this works. I want to protect you, too. Do you see?” He stayed there for a while, stroking the animal’s furry cheek, feeling as if his heart had grown too big for his chest.

Pretty soon, however, it was time to finish getting ready.

“What do you think?” Credence asked Grimm, after he had pulled on a robe over a pair of soft trousers. “Do I look like a proper wizard?” 

The clothes were the fanciest of the new things Newt had ordered for him from the city: a perfectly fitted robe of dark burgundy, embroidered around the collar with delicate silver thread in a pattern of tiny leaves, and clinging trousers with a long thin pocket he suspected was meant to hold a wand. His new boots were glossy black, made of finer material than any footwear he’d ever owned before, with a row of small shiny buckles that would no doubt provide endless tempting frustration for the niffler. 

The boots made a quiet jingling sound as Credence clomped down the stairs, Grimm bounding gracefully at his side. 

“Ooh, Credence, you look nice!” Mira chirped from the couch, where Newt was carefully plaiting her wild hair.

Credence grinned at her. “You too,” he said. She had on a robe of her own, a deep teal blue, and Newt was wearing emerald green, the color making his skin look even more golden and his hair glint like spun copper. Credence blinked, his mouth a little dry, watching the wizard’s clever fingers tie Mira’s braid off with a ribbon.

“They should be here any moment,” Newt said, distractedly glancing up from his task. “I’ve got the floo o–” His words cut off abruptly; he appeared to have caught sight of Credence, his eyes widening as he stared. “Oh,” he breathed.

Credence wasn’t sure what to do with himself. He could feel his cheeks turning pink as the wizard gaped at him. 

“Oh,” Newt said again, a little hoarsely. “Credence, you look...” He cleared his throat. “Very handsome.”

“You, um… you too,” Credence murmured. He fought against the urge to twist his fingers in his robe, afraid of wrinkling the soft fabric. “And thank you for ordering this for me, Newt,” he said bashfully. “It fits just right.”

It took a moment for the other man to produce a reply. “I… I should say so,” Newt said, his cheeks oddly flushed.

They stared at each other for a breathless few seconds, both blushing, while Mira looked slyly back and forth between the two of them, hiding a giggle behind her hand. 

And then the fireplace flared green, flames crackling high in the grate, and Credence did his best to look composed, smoothing his palms over his thighs. Inside, he was feeling a bit wild and strange, his heart pounding like a hammer. He was himself again, and yet… _not_. How could he be sure who he really was, when everything seemed to be changing, shifting, mired in a murky swamp of questions about where he came from and what he might be capable of?

It was all a little too much to process right now. 

But their guests were about to arrive. One thing at a time.

As for the rest, he’d have to untangle it later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goooodness, lovely readers, this is much later than I meant to post this chapter, but I promise the extra editing time was worth it. My draft was a stilted mess when I revisited it, and this may not be perfect but it is much better than it used to be! It just took me forever to polish it up, I don't know why. Maybe because it's a pivotal chapter and I wanted so badly to get it right! 
> 
> Things this summer are proving to be busier than I anticipated... but I will have the next chapter up as soon as I can :)
> 
> Thank you so, so much for your awesome comments on the previous chapter, I can't wait to reply to them tomorrow!! (As usual, I'm working on this right before going to sleep, and now I'm too tired to do much more....zzzzzzz) I appreciate all of your feedback and reactions! ♥


	7. A Dinner Party

Tina stepped out onto the hearth rug first, her long grey coat dusty and her face tired. 

“Queenie and Jacob will be here in a minute, they’re closing up the bakery,” she told Ariel, smiling wearily when she saw Mira, pulling her niece into an eager hug. Credence discretely wiped his sweaty palms on his robe. 

“Roger that,” Ariel said.

Credence wasn’t sure why he suddenly felt nervous. Perhaps it was because he wasn’t sure how any of them would react to seeing him, now that he looked so different. Also, these were Newt’s best friends. He wanted to make a good impression.

Tina was wrapping her arms around Newt, now, a big tight bear hug. “I’ve missed you,” she said, while he hugged her back just as fiercely.

“You too,” he declared. “You haven’t been to visit us in weeks.” 

She let go, pulling a face. “Haven’t had the time. Things have been so busy.”

“Seraphina’s not working you too hard at the palace, is she?” the wizard asked.

Tina sighed, shaking her head. “It’s not Her Majesty’s fault. You know I can’t take time off when things are this uncertain. The Queen needs me.” She gave him a pointed look. “She needs all the support she can get, now more than ever. The peace we’ve got is fragile, as I’m sure you’ve heard.”

“Yes,” Newt said, frowning a little. “I’m… I’m aware.”

Ariel was watching carefully from her frame, eyes narrowed.

Tina squeezed his shoulder. “Then you know how important it is that I stand by her,” she said. “I don’t want the peace negotiations to fail, but if they do… Newt, a war would affect all of us, whether we like it or not.”

Newt’s gaze had dropped to the carpet, the fabric dirtied with ash from her shoes. 

“If you could just come to the palace…” the witch said, more softly. “I know you don’t want to get involved in a fight you don’t believe in, but you’ve got to consider the position she’s in. She’s trying to keep all of us safe, and she could use your help.” 

“Tina,” Newt said quietly. “I _am_ considering her position. I’ve been... I… look, can we talk about this later?”

“Alright. Alright, I’m sorry. Here I am spouting politics before we’ve even finished saying hello. It’s just been weighing so heavily on my mind lately.” Tina straightened her shoulders.

The wizard looked back up at her, relieved. “What you need is a distraction, a break,” he declared. “Which I hope we can provide.” He reached over and tugged fondly on Mira’s braid. The girl smiled up at her aunt. 

“Yep! We’re celebrating,” Mira said. “So, while you’re here, you can be happy!”

“Is that so?” Tina said, with an answering grin, though it was a little fatigued around the edges. “That sounds great. But what are we celebrating?” She turned, spotting Credence. “Oh, and I’ve been neglecting my manners, haven’t I?” she announced. “Hello there. Have we met? You look familiar.”

Credence cleared his throat, fumbling for something to say. “I, um… I’m Credence. Nice to see you again, Miss Tina,” he replied politely, holding out his hand. 

The confusion in her eyes turned into astonishment. “Credence? It’s really you?” she said. “Gosh, you’re looking so… rejuvenated!” And she bypassed his outstretched hand and pulled him straight into a hug. Credence hadn’t gotten many hugs in his life, so it was a bit of a surprise. Tina hugged without restraint, all strong arms and warm affection, enfolding him completely. It was very, very nice, even if her coat was a little ashy.

“Wow,” she said, once she’d let him go. “Was there… I don’t want to pry, but… did something happen? You look very different.”

Credence swallowed hard. “Um. When you visited before,” he said, suppressing a surreal shiver, “I was under a curse. But it’s broken now.” 

It was a little unbelievable to be able to say those words aloud. He could feel a helpless smile spreading across his cheeks, Newt’s gaze soft and affectionate on the side of his face. Ariel was grinning in her frame and Mira was bouncing excitedly on the balls of her feet. They all seemed to share in his happiness, which made it all the more incredible, seeing how much his friends cared about him. Grimm delicately licked the back of his hand, and Credence lovingly scratched behind his ears.

“Oh!” Tina exclaimed. “Well, that _is_ cause for celebration! That’s the best news I’ve heard all week. Thank goodness, something in this kingdom is going right.” This time, her broad grin was bright enough to outshine the exhaustion in her eyes.

“And isn’t his hair pretty? I wish my hair was silver, too,” Mira enthused. “Uncle Newt says it looks like starlight!”

Credence, startled, felt a warm burst of pleasure in his chest. Tina’s eyes swiveled in Newt’s direction, and the wizard promptly turned a delicate shade of pink, his ears flushed hot. 

“Er,” he said. “Well, yes, earlier, I… I was just saying how nice a color it is.” He shot a brief shy glance toward Credence, who smiled at him, delighted. Newt liked his hair? The wizard returned his smile, bashful, his long fingers fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve.

“Starlight, huh?” Tina asked slowly, grinning toothily at her friend.

Newt’s blush deepened. He seemed to be giving her a warning look, eyebrows raised. “Yes. That’s… what I said.”

“Okay,” she said, still smiling. Ariel made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort of laughter.

And then the fireplace flared emerald again, and Newt hurriedly turned toward the grate. “Oh, good, I was wondering what the delay was,” he said, clearing his throat and tugging at the collar of his robe.

“Here they come,” Ariel announced.

Within the unnaturally green flames, two figures were spinning into view, blurry at first and then becoming clearer. A moment later, two familiar people stepped out onto the carpet, brushing the ash from their clothes: the good-natured baker with the mustache and the incredibly kind woman with the blonde hair. “Smooth landing, as always, thank you Ariel,” the woman said politely, straightening up in a swirl of her pink coat. 

“You are very welcome, my lady,” the nymph replied theatrically.

With a squeal of delight, Mira flung herself at both of her parents. “Hi!” she giggled, as they folded themselves around her in a happy hug. The girl’s small hands blissfully clung to her mother’s arm and her father’s sleeve while the man bent to kiss her forehead. 

“Hello, sweetheart,” Jacob said.

“Did you have a good week, honey?” Queenie asked.

“Yes!” Mira chirped. “I saw a unicorn!”

“No kidding?” her father asked eagerly. “How close up?”

Now _that_ was what loving parents looked like, Credence thought wistfully, petting Grimm, who was leaning warmly against his thigh. He couldn’t think of a single time in his childhood when anyone had looked at him with as much affection as Mira’s parents were gazing at her now. The girl had absent-mindedly entwined her fingers with her father’s hand, swinging his arm energetically while she recounted the unicorn sighting, practically vibrating with excitement. Jacob’s smile was soft and completely adoring, all of his attention focused on his daughter.

Mira’s mother was smiling too, full of love, though she seemed deeply thoughtful, her head tilted as she listened. A moment later, Mira’s story had ended, and Jacob moved to hug Newt while Mira dragged Tina over to the table to show her a drawing of the bowtruckle, and Credence realized that Madam Queenie was looking right at him.

“Hello,” he said politely, automatic manners kicking in. “Pleased to meet you, I’m…”

“Credence,” she said raptly, eyes wide, finishing his introduction for him. “Oh, of course.” She was coming closer. Her lovely blonde curls were tucked neatly behind her ear and her eyes were very blue, like a cornflower or a clear morning sky. Credence thought she looked like a painting of some sort of goddess of spring, benevolent and gentle.

“Oh, you’re so _sweet_ , honey,” Queenie said breathlessly, voice a little misty. “You’ve got a real poetic soul, don’t you?” She placed a gentle hand on his arm while he blinked at her in confusion. Credence, poetic? He wasn’t sure what she meant.

She continued to gaze at him, inexplicably moved by his presence. “I’m so pleased you’ve settled in here, Mira talks about you all the time,” she said sincerely. “I wasn’t sure, at first, that you were the same person I thought you were, but from what she was describing I had reason to hope! And here you are, safe and sound, thank goodness! Just look at you now!”

Although her words were lovely, they made no sense at all. Credence was completely lost. Did she somehow remember him, from all those weeks ago? 

“I remember you, honey,” she said quietly, as if she had heard his question, “even though everything’s changed.” She cupped his face in her hands. “I’m glad to see that the castle has been treating you well, and you’ve been eating plenty. I’ve less of an urge to sit you down and feed you to bursting.”

Merciful heaven, she really did remember! He couldn’t for the life of him figure out how that was possible, considering he’d looked completely different the last time she’d seen him, freshly cursed and gnarled with age.

He opened his mouth to ask, but she beat him to it. “Doesn’t matter what you look like, sweetie, your mind and soul are still the same. Pure and compassionate.” She tucked a strand of silver hair behind his ear, her expression very, very gentle, and Credence realized with a sudden shock of certainty that she could _read his mind_. 

_Oh._

Of _course_. Hadn’t Tina told him that her sister had a gift for knowing what people were thinking? And that meant… Queenie had known immediately that he was hungry and desperate that day at the market without him even having to speak. And so she’d given him food, knowing that he was in need, for no reason other than kindness. _She_ was the compassionate one.

“I…” he managed, speechless with gratitude.

“Any time,” she said firmly, reading the intention of his thoughts. “Honey, you don’t need to thank me for that. It was the least we could do, and I wish we could have helped you more. You disappeared before the day was out, otherwise we would have taken you in to stay with us, helped you get back on your feet. Jacob and I tried to look for you, after the market closed.” 

Credence was astonished. A stranger had cared enough to _look_ for him? 

Her expression was warm and a little bit sad. “Of course we looked, honey,” she said softly. “We were worried about you. But, thank Merlin, it all turned out okay. I’m so happy you found your way here.”

Credence was happy he ended up here, too. But… it was good to know, he supposed. He would’ve been alright, if he’d stayed in the city. The knowledge hit him strangely, in a bittersweet lump, making his eyes feel a little hot. Things could’ve ended up okay even if he hadn’t found anywhere to go after he’d been cursed, even if he’d been forced to beg in fearful uncertainty for a place to spend the night. Queenie and Jacob would’ve helped him, without question. The world wasn’t as cruel as he’d been taught.

He didn’t know why this was making him upset.

“Thank you,” he croaked, overwhelmed, determined to get the words out whether or not she deemed them necessary. He needed to say them, to block the creeping tangle of emotion squirming through him, tightening his throat and getting caught behind his tongue. “I… I can’t thank you enough.” Credence could feel helpless wetness gathering at the corners of his eyes. There was more he wanted to express, but that seemed to be all he could manage. 

She probably understood the rest of it anyway. Swiftly and easily, as if it were the simplest thing in the world, she reached out and pulled him into a tight hug.

“You’re very welcome.”

Credence was uncomfortably aware that the rest of the room was quiet and the others were probably watching them, but he couldn’t possibly pull away. This hug was even better than Tina’s; Queenie’s blouse smelled of rosemary and fresh bread, with a hint of lavender, and she was running her fingers over his hair in a way that made everything feel shivery and calm. Grimm made a quiet noise, still pressed against his leg, while Queenie rubbed Credence’s back, letting him cling to her and bury his face in her shoulder. “You go on and set the table,” she said to someone else, her voice vibrating against his cheek. “Credence has dinner all ready to go, he made… oh, honey, you made krupnik soup for us? That’s so thoughtful,” she breathed. “Go ahead and start, all of you, we just need a couple minutes of privacy.”

Blessedly, the stark silence was filled with the scrape of chairs and the creak of footsteps, and Credence no longer felt so vulnerable. 

“Okay, Mimi, you got the spoons? I’ll get plates and bowls,” he heard Tina say.

There was a clink of silverware and a shuffle of cloth, and the low murmur of voices continued. They were probably all sitting at the table now, but Queenie made no move to disentangle herself from Credence’s slightly desperate hold. He wasn’t quite ready to let go; there were other feelings threatening to claw their way out now, ugly dark shadows squirming under the surface of his mind - bad memories that he did his best not to think about, blurry with leftover fear. They pushed against his self-control like an invisible weight, cold like the gusting wind he’d felt on his exhausting climb through the hills, back when he was newly cursed and trying to ignore how terrified he was, knowing he might likely freeze that night in the dark.

Queenie gently cupped the back of his neck, the touch of her hand spreading waves of calm through his body. “It’s alright, now,” she breathed. “Honey, you were so, so brave. You kept going, and you made it through. That’s what matters.”

He wasn’t sure whether she meant that night in the hills, or all the years he’d lived in unhappiness. Either way, Credence wasn’t sure he was worthy of her praise. He’d had no choice other than to keep going. Was that bravery? What other option was there? He’d never been one to give up.

Grimm was leaning heavily against him, solid and comforting, and Credence reached down to tangle his fingers in the wolf’s thick fur. Grimm was always helping him, so steady and loyal, always keeping him safe. Grimm was the brave one, protecting him today. The memory tumbled through his mind in a muted flash, the panic of this afternoon, their ill-fated trip for parsley, his shameful recklessness, but it didn’t seem nearly as awful as before, not when Queenie was still hugging him.

“Oh,” she murmured. “Oh, it sounds like the soup was more trouble than it was worth. How awful, honey, that was a close call. I’m glad you’re both alright.”

There was something terribly nice about not having to recount unpleasant experiences out loud, and yet still having somebody who _knew_ , who understood what had happened. Even if… well, it couldn’t be very enjoyable for her to hear his thoughts. He knew full well how dark a place the inside of his head was. 

“I’m happy to listen,” Queenie whispered. “No matter how dark you’re feeling, I’ll listen. None of that darkness is your fault, honey. You can talk to me about it anytime, just let me know. We could help you air out those memories.”

Credence thought he might like that. She was easy to trust, so warm and open. He already felt much better, if still a little shaky. Behind them, he could hear the conversation over the dinner table as the others ate their soup.

“Gosh, this is good.” That was Jacob’s voice. “A bit of garlic and plenty of parsley, just the way I like it!”

“That’s because it’s from your book, Dad,” Mira said, giggling. “Credence is really good at making your recipes.”

“Oh?” Jacob said delightedly. “My book? Newt, I assumed you’d lost that, since you never use it.” He sounded like he was teasing.

“What? No, no, of course I haven’t lost it, I’m just… you know how hopeless I am at cooking,” Newt replied sheepishly. “I did try a few recipes, but I’m just terrible.” Credence could picture the exact expression he was probably wearing, apologetic and endearingly flushed.

“But that’s no reason to give up,” Mira said sweetly. “I know failure doesn’t feel good, Uncle Newt, but most things that are worth doing are hard. Success comes with practice. Isn’t what you taught me?”

“Oh, Merlin,” the wizard muttered in defeat while Jacob guffawed. “Mira, darling, you’re too clever for me.” It sounded as if Ariel was snickering quietly from the mantel. 

Mira let out a delighted giggle and Credence finally managed to pull his face out of Queenie’s neck, a watery smile on his face. Queenie laughed softly, wiping the tears off his cheeks with gentle fingers. “You want to go eat?” she murmured. Credence nodded, and she squeezed his shoulders. He felt as if his heart had been scrubbed with something painful but necessary, leaving him cleaner than before; there was relief, and weightlessness, and a crumbling feeling, like a bit of old hurt had been scoured off him. Goodness, if this was what five minutes in Queenie’s presence was like, then it was no wonder Mira and Jacob were such happy, wonderful people. Queenie was like a ray of warm sunshine, like sweet cinnamon candy, like a hot mug of cocoa on a cold day.

Queenie let out a bright, delighted laugh and pinched his cheek. “Oh, you’re such a charmer!” she declared, leading him to the table.

He sat, blushing, realizing that Newt and Jacob were watching him, Newt looking faintly wistful and Jacob smiling softly. The baker must be used to witnessing his wife’s unusual half-conversations by now.

“Um,” Credence said, remembering his manners. “Please excuse my delay. I hope the food tastes alright.”

“No problem,” Jacob said easily, waving his hand. “And the soup’s more than alright! It’s fantastic.”

Credence might’ve assumed such a compliment was mere polite courtesy, but as he began to eat he was surprised to find himself convinced otherwise. The soup was _very_ good, if Credence could be pardoned for saying so himself. Although, in fact, he didn’t have to say much of anything, because the others were vocal enough already. 

“This really is good, Credence,” Tina said.

“Yup! It’s just like when Dad makes it!” Mira added excitedly. “So tasty!”

“And it’s clear you did more than just follow the recipe,” Jacob enthused. “It takes true instinct to get that balance of seasonings so perfect! You’re a natural, my friend! Even if Newt doesn’t know a spatula from a slotted spoon, at least somebody in this castle knows how to cook!” he joked, while Newt huffed good-naturedly. “What else have you made from the book, Credence?”

This prompted a merry discussion of the various dishes he’d prepared, with Mira eagerly chiming in on her favorites, while Credence smiled shyly and slipped little bits of brown bread spread with soft cheese to Grimm. He had always preferred to stay quiet and let other people do most of the talking, which was easy to do when his dinner companions were so pleasant and at ease in each other’s company. The conversation flowed through Mira’s potions lessons and Newt’s progress with various injured creatures, before turning to Jacob and Queenie’s bakery. 

“The chicken pies are a hit!” Queenie declared. “One of our best-selling items, along with our savory stuffed breads. I think it’s the herbs, Newt. The ones you pick for us always taste so fresh.”

Credence recalled Jacob saying much the same thing, on the bench outside his shop on the afternoon they’d first met.

“What a coincidence, huh?” Jacob asked gently, catching Credence’s eye, his thoughts going in the same direction. “I remember meeting you that day, when I was testing those samples. You were so courteous when I asked you to taste one.”

“Oh,” Credence said bashfully. “Well, I couldn’t believe my luck. It was delicious.”

“And you are just as polite now as ever,” Jacob said, grinning. “You know, I was thinking about offering you a job, actually,” he chuckled. Out of the corner of his eye, Credence thought he saw Newt stiffen. “I was kicking myself, after you left that day, for not asking on the spot. You seemed so well-mannered and we needed a new shop assistant. And now I find you’re a talented cook, too! But it sounds like you’ve got a good thing going here at the castle, so I’ll understand if I’ve missed my chance.”

A surreal shiver went through Credence, a strange ghost of a possibility. In some parallel universe, maybe he would’ve ended up working at the bakery, earning his own income, perhaps making enough money to feed Chastity and Modesty and take them away from Ma. What if Jacob had offered, that first day, and Credence had said yes? What if he’d agreed to start immediately, and stayed there that night and never walked home alone past the alleyway and never met Newt, never been cursed, never run off into the hills? He could still be living in the city, caring for his sisters, happy and uncomplicated.

But then he wouldn’t know about magic, and he wouldn’t be here with Newt and Mira and Ariel. And who knew what would’ve become of Grimm, alone and starving out in the cold. 

The wolf’s head was on his knee, heavy and warm, and Credence placed an absent hand in between his furry ears. No, he thought, this path was better. He was meant to be here.

“Thank you,” he said politely. “I… that means a lot to me, that you even considered it. But I… well, I don’t think it would work. I’d like to stay here, and learn more from Newt, about plants and creatures and magic. As much as he’s willing to teach me.”

Jacob smiled. “Absolutely,” he replied. “That’s a good choice. I’d want to learn magic, too, if I could. And Newt’s the best teacher around.”

Newt’s eyes held a mix of emotion, relief and delight. “Credence,” he said, a little thickly. “I’m glad to hear that. I’d be very happy to teach you whatever you wish to learn.” He reached over and squeezed Credence’s hand, watching him from under the curly fringe of his hair. “I’m so pleased you want to stay. We can get started as soon as you feel up to it, darling. Tomorrow, if you like.”

Credence smiled at him, his heart fluttering. This was really happening! He was determined to work his hardest, study everything, learn as much as possible.

Newt’s answering smile was dazzling, bright and lovely, and Credence almost couldn’t breathe. 

He was going to learn _magic!_ From _Newt_.

“Ooh!” Mira declared. “Yay! And I can help, too! We can do our potions together, and I’ll help you remember which way to stir.” She beamed proudly at her parents and her aunt. “I’m good at potions.”

“That’s wonderful, sweetie,” Tina said, though she was tilting her head in confusion. “But… Credence… how come you’re only just getting started? Newt, why have you been waiting this long? Surely you aren’t too busy to tutor Credence and Mira at the same time.”

The wizard looked at her, still smiling. “Hmm? Of course I can tutor them both! I was just waiting until Credence was ready. His magic didn’t clearly manifest itself until yesterday.”

Tina frowned. “Didn’t manifest until yesterday? Oh, but… you mean, you didn’t tell him? About the dreams?” She was looking at Credence, her eyes serious and tired. “Credence, I know it’s none of my business, but it’s… you’ve been given a _gift_. I thought you would’ve started cultivating it by now.”

“Oh,” Credence said, swallowing down a lump of guilt. He hadn’t meant to ignore Tina’s suggestion for this long, it just had seemed so far-fetched that those visions of his were really prophetic. And, of course, he’d been distracted by research and trying to break the curse. “I, um… I’ve been forgetting to mention it,” he said lamely to Newt, who turned toward him in surprise. “And it’s… well, it might not actually be a gift, it could be nothing. It was just a noise I heard in my dream.”

But Tina seemed completely certain. “Credence, you had visions of the castle, before you’d ever been here, visions that allowed you to find it when it should’ve been invisible through the wards,” she said. “That’s not _nothing_. That’s clearly a sign you’ve been granted something special, a power that you _can’t_ just allow to go to waste. What you’ve got could be useful and significant, maybe could even save lives if you learn to harness it the right way.” 

Credence stared at her. He’d never thought about it like that. 

She clenched her fist on the table, weariness lining her face. “If we had any inkling of the future right now, it would really help us. To prepare for this war, and not to lose hope.” 

Oh. Now Credence felt like a selfish fool. He knew things were desperate, and that the kingdom’s future was hanging in the balance. What if he’d been missing an opportunity to change that?

“I’m… I’m so sorry, I didn’t think–” he began. 

To his surprise, however, Newt cut him off. “No, Tina, that’s hardly fair. I know you mean well, but you’re manipulating him.” He was still holding tightly onto Credence’s hand, looking fiercely protective. “Credence has no obligation to suddenly perform miracles just because things are going poorly. He’s new to all of this, and the fate of the kingdom doesn’t rest on his shoulders. He’s a student, not an oracle, and you can’t guilt him into becoming a soldier either.”

Tina’s eyes held frustration and despair. “Newt,” she said heavily, “I’m not trying to guilt him into anything, I’m just laying out the facts, as tempting as it is to ignore them. It may be peaceful up here among the squirrels and jackalopes, but down there things are getting _worse_ –”

“Is that what you think I’m doing?” Newt interrupted, upset. “Ignoring the conflict? Hiding my head in the sand? I have responsibilities here, creatures to take care of! If I weren’t here purifying the meadows and the trees, all the forests would die and the Waste would take over, did you know that? I’m not just gallivanting around frolicking with the butterflies.”

“She didn’t say you were,” Queenie cut in soothingly. “Honey, we know what you do is very important. Teenie, why don’t we–”

“But can’t you do both?” Tina asked suddenly. “You could at least come and meet with Her Majesty, see if there’s anything you could contribute that doesn’t involve leaving your castle for long periods of time, short missions she could send you on, supplies you could gather for us…”

Credence could tell from Newt’s stony face that this was not a suggestion he liked hearing. “Supplies,” the wizard replied thinly. “You mean parts harvested from creatures, don’t you? Destructive materials; erumpent horn, acromantula venom, maybe even runespoor eggs and dragon’s blood.” His face was pale with anger. “I’m a magizoologist, not an apothecary, and certainly not an arms dealer. I’m not going to hurt or kill any beasts just so we idiotic humans can fight each other better. Tina, you can’t ask me to do that.”

“I’m _not_ ,” she said hurriedly, backing off. “Newt, those aren’t the supplies I meant. I wouldn’t suggest that, you know I wouldn’t. I promise.”

The wizard’s expression softened slightly. “I… I know,” he said, more calmly. “I do know that. _You_ wouldn’t, because you know how important they are, how much they mean to me. But there is no doubt in my mind that the Queen would. She'll want something of that nature, something I’m not willing to give.”

“You can’t know that for sure,” Tina said, her voice taking on a pleading tone. “You haven’t even met with her yet. It might be diplomacy that she needs help with, or reconnaissance, not weapons at all. If you would just see what she says, talk to her, argue with her if you must!” Newt looked doubtful. “It might do some good to bring fresh ideas to the table,” Tina insisted. “She’s trying so hard, but everything seems like it’s falling apart no matter what she does. The council keeps talking in circles, and the suggestions for arranging peace have been getting more and more inadequate. It feels like we’re blocked at every turn; the Ambassadors haven’t made any progress, and the Commander is acting like all of this is just inevitable, and–”

She cut off, rubbing her hands over her face.

“You know I don’t want us go to war, Newt. But we might not have a choice. And I just… I can’t stop imagining the devastation if we end up under attack without adequate defenses. I have to do everything I can to keep everyone safe, to keep Her Majesty safe. Otherwise, I’m just useless.”

Queenie reached over to massage her sister’s shoulders, looking upset.

Newt’s mouth was twisted in remorse. “Tina…” he said softly. “Hey, no, that’s not… you’re not useless in the least. You’re doing your best. We all know that, and I’m sure Her Majesty knows it, too. I understand where you’re coming from, really, I do. And I’m… I’m sorry I got frustrated just now, it’s hard for me to keep a clear head when I’m worried. And, well, it’s no excuse, but it has been a stressful afternoon.”

Newt was still gripping Credence’s hand tightly.

“And I’ve been having a stressful _year_ ,” Tina said heavily. “So… I’m sorry, too. I’m painting my own troubles onto your life, and onto Credence. I know you’ll do what you think is best, both of you, it’s not my place to order you around.” She sighed as Queenie kept massaging her shoulders, head sagging on her neck. “I’ve just been so discouraged lately,” she lamented. “I haven’t told you all of it yet,” she mumbled, with a long gusty exhale. “I’ve been demoted.”

“What?” Jacob asked in dismay.

“No! But why?” piped Mira fiercely. “That’s not fair! You’re strong and brave and loyal, and you always keep your uniform clean.”

Tina chuckled sadly, her face drawn. “I do, don’t I. But Commander Graves doesn’t see it that way.” 

Grimm suddenly sat up very straight, his dark eyes staring at Tina. Credence blinked in confusion. 

“I second-guessed him too much, or went behind his back to the Queen too many times, or _something_ , and he reprimanded me for insubordination,” she said, desolate and angry. “Sent me down to the basement to shuffle permits all day.” She let out a quiet groan of frustration. “That man was always powerfully stubborn, but at least he used to have a little compassion. I even used to like working with him! But these days it’s like he doesn’t care about anyone else’s ideas, and all of his energy is focused on the war. He’s been saying all along that a peace treaty won’t work, and I worry that he’s swaying the Queen toward striking first and throwing negotiations out the window! It’s just so _foolish_.”

Grimm yipped suddenly, his whole body stiff, and everyone turned to look at him. His dark eyes stared back, mournful and unreadable, his head turning toward Queenie.

Credence had a sudden blaze of hope. “Oh! Can you hear…? Are you able to read him? What’s he thinking?”

Queenie’s brow furrowed as she peered down at Grimm. “Honey, I’m afraid I can’t hear much,” she said softly. “I can’t usually get any read on animals, not like people. Not enough similarity between our thought patterns, different cerebral anatomy. Sometimes, if a creature’s mind is complex enough and I’m able to concentrate clearly, I can get… feelings. Just vague shadows. Instincts, sensations.”

“Will you try a little longer?” Credence asked breathlessly. “I just… I don’t mean to interrupt what we were talking about, but I think this might be important.”

“Well,” she said. “Alright. But best not to get your hopes up. Everybody else, try and think of something peaceful and quiet so I can concentrate on listening.”

Credence pictured the moon, bright and full, surrounded by stars. He tried to make his mind silent and still, even though he felt desperately like fidgeting.

“He’s… agitated,” Queenie murmured, after a long moment of quiet. “Something is wrong that he wants to put right. That’s the feeling I’m getting, like the world is not what it should be. Something’s broken, out of place, and he’s worried it’s going to hurt us.” She sighed. “I think that might be all I can do. With humans, I can get images, or even voices, but with him it’s… visceral. Just a vague feeling, no specifics.”

Credence let out the breath he’d been unconsciously holding, disappointed. Grimm’s eyes were just as dark and solemn as before, watching Credence sadly with never-ending patience.

“Sorry, honey,” Queenie said.

“Thanks for trying,” Credence said woodenly, doing his best to comfort the wolf with gentle scratches down his spine. Grimm quietly licked his hand.

 

They moved on to dessert after that, but Credence’s mind weighed as heavy as Grimm’s furry head on his thigh, despite the fact that the apple strudel was delicious. He listened with half an ear to Mira’s animated description of all the things she’d been learning these past few weeks, her happy babble cheering him only slightly. Grimm’s fur was thick and slightly coarse under his fingers, and Credence stared down at him, wondering what it was that the wolf knew. 

What piece of the world was wrong that he wanted to fix? 

He must be terribly frustrated with Credence for not figuring it out, and yet he never showed it, never acted anything but gentle and caring. Credence cupped the wolf’s face in his hands, feeling miserably inadequate.

 _I’m not giving up_ , he thought fiercely, hoping the wolf understood the look in his eyes. _I’m going to help you put it right, whatever it is. I won’t rest until I do._

Grimm stared back at him, snuffling his nose affectionately against Credence’s wrist.

Newt eventually made a pot of tea, and they all settled around the fire on several conjured couches, the fire crackling and popping. Grimm was beginning to look sleepy, splayed languidly across the couch between Newt and Credence with his head in Credence’s lap. Mira had just finished proudly reading one of her homework assignments to her parents, a short essay outlining the current research available on unicorns.

“That was very well-written, darling, I can tell you put a lot of work into it,” praised Queenie.

“I liked the bit where you proposed a plan for how you might study unicorns further, if you had the chance,” added Jacob. “It’s good to be ambitious!”

Mira smiled. “That was Credence’s idea. He was there with me when we saw the one in the meadow!”

“Oh, that’s right!” Queenie replied. “How lovely. It sounded like a wonderful experience.”

“When I grow up, I’m gonna be just like Uncle Newt, traveling around studying creatures,” the girl declared.

“Well, good!” said Jacob proudly. “Seems to me the world needs more than just one magizoologist looking out for all the wild beasts, doesn’t it? Though Newt is doing an exemplary job of it, of course.”

Newt, however, was staring into the fire, pensive.

“I may not be able to do it for much longer,” he said quietly. “Not if this war becomes a reality. Or if the Wizard of the Waste gets any bolder.”

Everybody seemed to stiffen at that, even Mira.

“We ought to…” Newt sighed. “I hate to change the subject to something so bleak, but Tina’s right. Trouble might be on its way, whether we like it or not. And we ought to talk about what we’ll do if things escalate,” he said, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “We had a close call this afternoon involving Grindelwald’s spy creatures, which is why I had Ariel take us to the river. But if he gets even more aggressive in his attempts to catch me, I’ll… I’ll need to send Mira home, and move the castle far away, past the mountains. Credence and Grimm can stay with you, and I’ll release as many of my creatures as I can and prepare to go on the run, draw his attention away from here. Ariel? Are you on board with that?”

The nymph shifted in her picture frame, crossing her arms, her face serious. “Of course,” she said fiercely. “We’ll lure him as far away as possible, and then smash him like a bug. Show that old vampire bat what we’re made of.”

Newt smiled at her, small and grim and tight. “Yes,” he said. “Quite.”

Despite Ariel’s confident words, Credence felt a cold tendril of fear creep up his spine. He didn’t want Newt putting himself in danger like that, playing bait!

“But we don’t know for sure if that will happen,” Tina said, leaning forward in her seat. “There’s danger all around us, and Grindelwald’s not our only concern. It could be that the greater threat will come from Myria. If our kingdom is under attack… if there is war… we will need you here, not far away. Will you stay and help us?”

“Of course,” Newt replied, his voice upset. “I’m not going to abandon you! But, Tina, I just don’t know _how_ I can help, aside from taking as many refugees into the castle as possible. I don’t _fight_ , it’s not what I do. I’m not a soldier, or a politician, and I’m certainly not one of the Queen’s war-sorcerers, even if she seems convinced that I ought to act like one, with all the owls she’s been pelting me with,” he said in frustration. “I’m a hedgewizard! My expertise lies in wortcunning, not combat magic!”

There must have been more letters from the palace, then. Several, Credence surmised.

Tina looked intently at Newt. “But in desperate times, couldn’t you try? Basic battle magic is teachable on short notice, and you’ve got the raw power for it, even if you haven’t studied it much. You could be such an asset to the army! Our resources are stretched thin as it is, and it’ll only get worse when the Queen has to send our best witches and wizards to the border. You have to remember that Her Majesty is backed into a corner,” she argued staunchly. “She wouldn’t be badgering you if she didn’t badly need your help. She must think you could be a powerful ally to have in the field.”

The look Newt gave her was deeply pained. 

“Alright, _or_ ,” she said determinedly, taking a different tack, “if you aren’t willing to join her forces, you could at least show up and tell her your side of things, see if you can inspire a change in tactics. Lay out the reasons you’re against the war, see if there’s some other option for an armistice that she’s overlooked! Some fresh hope. _Anything_.”

The desperation was clear in her voice.

“Thanks to my demotion, I no longer have the opportunity to speak privately with her,” Tina went on. “But she’d give you an audience, no question. She finds you likable and interesting, no matter how many times you’ve gotten yourself arrested,” she said, a little exasperated. “You could bring in a new perspective; if there’s something we haven’t tried, some way around all of this, maybe you’ll see it.” Tina rubbed at her temples with the tips of her fingers. “I just… I can’t… I know I’m nagging you, but I don’t know what else to _do_.”

Newt was silent for a moment. “I know,” he murmured. “Tina, I understand.”

“Just consider it,” Tina pressed. “She’s not unreasonable, she’d listen to you. She cares about this kingdom and everybody in it, and her energy and her magic are always focused on keeping us safe. She wants peace to work just as much as we all do.”

The fire crackled and Newt sighed. “Okay,” he said. “I...” He ran a hand distractedly through his curly mop of hair. “I know her heart is in the right place. I’ll have to think about what I might say, I… I don’t know yet.”

“Alright,” Tina said, relieved. “Just think about it. That’s all I ask.”

Newt gave her a ghost of a smile, worried and tired. “I will.”

Credence stroked his hand down Grimm’s spine, thinking, while the room fell into quiet. Something niggled at him, something he’d never thought to consider before. 

“The Queen is a… a sorceress?” he asked hesitantly. All these years growing up in the city, he’d never even suspected that Her Majesty might harbor any secret power. She seemed normal in every way, regal and wise, a monarch to be admired. Everyone loved her, even the ones who professed to hate magic. Even Ma.

“Of course she is,” Tina replied, tilting her head. “She’s one of the most powerful witches since Morgana. How else do you think our kingdom has been lucky enough to enjoy so many years of good crops and safe borders?” She managed a half-smile at Credence’s astonished expression. “You ever wonder why the plague almost never hits, nor famine, or pestilence?” 

Credence let this new insight sink in, wondering what Ma’s face would look like if she knew she was beholden to a witch for her good health. 

“There’s no spell to create a perfect utopia, of course. Human nature has its dark side, and flooding the city with resources doesn’t guarantee an absence of suffering. But the Queen does what she can. Her wisdom and her kindness are what keep all of us from a harder life, without most of the city even knowing it.” Tina’s eyes were glowing with distant admiration, the fire illuminating the soft, private smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. 

“That’s incredible,” said Credence quietly. “I never would’ve guessed.”

Tina nodded. “The secrecy is on purpose. Sure, there are rumors about wizards and witches, but they’re only fairy stories, and the palace makes sure none of them carry much truth. If everyone knew Her Majesty’s power was real, it would be too easy to expect her to solve everything, which she simply can’t. And she would attract attention of the wrong sort.”

The wrong sort. Like Ma, too narrow-minded to accept magic as a good thing, too afraid of what she didn’t understand to listen to any reasonable argument to the contrary. She would condemn the Queen as a practitioner of evil, Credence knew it, even despite all the ways Her Majesty had shielded the city from harm.

“I see,” Credence murmured, feeling a little uncomfortable. “She’s… got to protect herself too, in order to keep doing what she does.”

“Exactly,” declared Tina, her eyes bright. “What she does is important, whether the normal citizens are aware of it or not. And those of us who know how hard she works… _we_ at least can show our appreciation, our loyalty. And… and we’ve got to try and help her. All the peace and safety of the kingdom, those wonderful things she’s given us, they could all be destroyed if we go to war.” Her voice was tight. “And then we will all be in danger, every one of us, those who use magic and those who don’t.”

The room lapsed into silence once more, and Credence sank his fingers into Grimm’s fur, his heart heavy, thinking of his sisters down in the city. They were probably going about their chores, trying to abide by Ma’s rules, unaware of the brewing threat. 

Newt was staring into the fire, his expression dark.

“Well,” said Queenie tentatively, “let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. Don’t despair yet.” She rubbed a hand over her sister’s shoulder, squeezing it tight for a moment. “The Queen has managed to hold the peace this long. She may be able to keep it going.” 

It was getting late, the stars glittering outside the window, the moonlight bouncing off the roaring wash of the river.

“Mireleh,” Jacob said, tugging gently on one of Mira’s plaits. “You’d best be getting to bed.”

The girl was stubbornly trying to stifle a yawn, her eyes sleepy. 

“Yes, honey,” replied Queenie gently. “It’s definitely past your bedtime. We’ll tuck you in, how does that sound?”

Credence’s own eyelids were drooping, too. When next he blinked, Newt was crouched in front of him. “Sweetheart,” the wizard murmured, rousing Grimm with a fond scratch behind his ears. “Why don’t you two head to bed as well? We might be talking down here for a while longer, but it’s nothing you need to worry about. It’s been a trying day, you need your rest.”

Sleepily, Credence nodded, rubbing a hand over his face. Across the room, Jacob had scooped Mira up into his arms, her head on his shoulder, and he was climbing the stairs to her bedroom. Tina and Queenie followed close behind, Tina’s arm wrapped around her sister. The little family moved together, upstairs and out of sight, and Credence was struck with a tight pang in his chest.

“Newt,” he said, with a sudden ache of determination.

“Hmm?” the wizard replied, pausing in his petting of Grimm’s fur. 

“Will you take me with you?” Credence asked carefully. “If you go to the palace, to see the Queen, will you bring me along?”

Newt looked reluctant. “Well,” he said. “I’d prefer you stay here where it’s safest, but…”

“I won’t get in your way,” Credence said quickly. “I’ll be quiet as a mouse, you won’t even notice me there. I just want to see the city again.” 

And… and see his sisters. Just a glimpse, if it was possible. He didn’t dare approach them under Ma’s scrutiny lest he get them into trouble for talking to him. But he couldn’t bear not to know how they were doing, not to be able to see if they were alright.

“Credence,” Newt breathed, looking dismayed. “You couldn’t possibly be in my way, that’s not what I meant at all!” He reached out and took Credence’s hand, squeezing it gently. “I only want to make sure no harm comes to you. The city is relatively safe, and the palace is certainly well-guarded, but it’s still risky. Is your heart set on going?”

Credence swallowed, warmed by the comforting pressure of Newt’s fingers. “Yes,” he said. “It would mean a lot to me.”

Newt nodded, eyes wide. “Well,” he replied, a little hoarsely. “Then, of course, you shall come along, if you desire it. Anything… anything you like.” He brought their joined hands up to rest against his chest. “I’ll be glad of your company, darling, to make an unpleasant errand into an enjoyable one. If I have to argue with Her Majesty, at least I’ll get to spend the day with you.”

Credence smiled shyly, his cheeks a bit over-warm. Newt’s robe was velvety-soft against his knuckles, his body heat intimately warming the fabric.

“It would be best to wait until the end of summer, just a few more weeks,” Newt went on. “I hate to leave the hills in the midst of growing time. The forests feel my absence, and I… I feel I should stand guard up here a while longer in case Grindelwald make any other moves to spread his corruption further. I don’t know if he realizes how close his wolves came to capturing you,” the wizard murmured, reaching out to brush a fingertip feather-light over Credence’s cheek. “But just to be safe, I want to lay low for a bit, play it cautious. Darling, is that alright with you?”

“Yes,” Credence said, grateful that Newt was allowing this at all. He itched to go sooner, but catching the Wizard of the Waste’s attention again was the last thing he wanted. It wouldn’t do to be reckless. “Thank you, Newt.”

“Of course,” the wizard breathed. “It would be my pleasure, I hope you know that." His gaze was even and steady. "It is a privilege to escort you wherever you wish to go.”

Credence looked back at Newt, his heart beating unusually fast. The fire crackled behind him, low and warm, and Newt’s eyes were very green, those little flecks of gold around his irises just as enchanting as they had been the first day they met.

And then there was the creak of a stair, footsteps coming back down from Mira’s room, and Newt rubbed a thumb over Credence’s knuckles, brief and gentle, before releasing his hand. 

“I should let you and Grimm get to bed, shouldn’t I?” the wizard said breathlessly, stepping back. The wolf was watching them, completely still and silent, his eyes huge and dark. “I look forward to beginning our lessons tomorrow.”

Credence’s smile was bright and instantaneous. “Oh, yes.” He had nearly forgotten! _Magic_ lessons! “I’ll… I’d better go rest, so that I’m ready to start learning.”

Queenie had appeared at the bottom of the stairs, Tina and Jacob behind her. Newt beamed at Credence. “Good thinking,” the man said, eyes crinkling. His voice was very tender. “Sleep well, darling.”

“You too,” Credence said. “Goodnight.”

As he made his way past the others, nodding a polite farewell, he thought he saw Tina nudge Queenie, grinning. Jacob might’ve had a bit of an extra twinkle in his eye, Credence wasn’t sure. He was awfully sleepy after such a long day.

Upstairs, Credence blearily cleaned his teeth, distracted by thoughts of magic lessons and plants and pretty shades of green and gold. When he turned around, he was surprised to find Grimm watching him quietly, his shoulders hunched.

“Hey,” Credence murmured, hurriedly wiping his face clean with a towel. The wolf’s ears were drooping, his eyes sad. “Hey, what’s wrong? Are you alright, are you…” He knelt, cupping the animal’s face in his hands. “I’m sorry, asking questions like that isn’t very helpful, is it?” he whispered. Unlike usual, Grimm made no attempt to lick him, just stared back dejectedly.

Credence, dismayed, pressed closer and wrapped his arms around the wolf in a tight hug, burying his nose in Grimm’s furry cheek. It probably wasn’t as good as a hug from Queenie, but maybe it was nice anyway. “It’s going to be alright,” he murmured, though the words felt like they weren’t enough. “I wish I was better at this,” he admitted. “If I were someone else, someone more well-spoken, I’d probably know exactly what to say to help you feel better.” 

Still, he supposed all that really mattered was that his words were honest. “You’re so important to me,” he tried again. “Whatever you were trying to tell us before, I’ll figure it out, I promise. Don’t worry, I’ll keep trying and I’ll never stop.” He rubbed his hand down the wolf’s spine, anguished. How many worries did Grimm have to carry all by himself, unable to share? He was so brave and strong, despite it all, and it made Credence’s heart hurt to imagine him in any distress. “I love you so much,” murmured into the wolf’s ear. “I don’t know what’s going to happen now, but we’ll face it together. We'll look after each other, always. You know that, right?”

The wolf whimpered suddenly, and Credence pulled back, expecting to see more sadness on his furry face. Instead, Grimm was frozen, his eyes wide and his ears pricked up, his tail lifted in happy surprise.

“What?” Credence asked. “Did I… did that help?” He pet the wolf’s head, smiling shyly, and Grimm seemed to unfreeze, immediately placing a broad lick across his cheek, joyfully snuffling against his jaw. “Oh,” Credence giggled. “Oh, you silly. Grimm! I’m all slobbery now! Hey, that tickles!”

Grimm let out a soft little yip, then bestowed one more sly lick to Credence’s ear, his tail wagging so hard against the floor it made a loud _thump_ with every stroke. Credence laughed, ruffling the thick fur on the animal’s chest.

“Hey, you rogue! Come on, now, I already had my bath today!” he said jokingly. He scratched his fingertips over the wolf’s shoulder. “But I’m glad you’re feeling better.” The creature gazed at him steadily, tongue lolling, tail still swishing against the floor. “Alright, c’mere, let’s go to sleep.” 

Credence fought off a yawn as he stood up and shuffled over to the bed, Grimm hopping up automatically. “I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty tired out. Mm, you want the window side?” he asked, crawling under the covers. But the wolf nudged him further over, lying down like a furry barricade between Credence and the door. “Oh, okay,” he said, smiling, snuggling into the pillow and throwing an arm over Grimm’s back. “You protecting me?” 

The wolf twisted slightly, pulling the quilt up over Credence with his teeth, and Credence sighed in contentment. Grimm’s fur was warm, and he smelled like herbs and shampoo, and Credence nestled himself a little closer. He let himself relax, sinking deeper into the mattress.

And then he felt a tiny, sneaky lick on his forehead.

Credence made a soft amused sound. “Hey,” he muttered, grinning with his face scrunched against the pillow. “M'trying to sleep here.”

There was a quiet huff, and then Grimm’s head settled onto the pillow too, the animal’s breaths slow and even near Credence’s ear.

The stars moved above him, and the moon shone on the water, and then he was asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Some plot and some cuddles!! I'm finally making good on my promise of hugs for Credence :D There will be more to come as well - Credence gets _all_ the hugs, because he deserves them.
> 
> Omg, it has been _so_ fun for me to read your reactions and predictions about where this is going!!! Thank you so much for your comments :D I agree, it was tempting to have Queenie be able pluck the answers from Grimm's mind... but... I still have more plot I want to get through before everything gets resolved ;) *giggles uncontrollably*
> 
> Still, our furry friend has reason to be hopeful. ♥


	8. Stars, Hide Your Fires

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lovely readers, just fyi this chapter contains a brief dream scene that's a tad bit gory (but not graphic - the gore is implied rather than explicit) and some pretty angsty memories.
> 
> Thanks for bearing with me through all this build-up of plot! I kept adding things and making the story more complicated, which is super fun and good and everything, but the unintentional result is that I'm making you wait a long time for the action-packed climax! (Ooops.) Annnd the reveal of a certain character. Ahem. I realize that I'm dragging that out, and you're dying to see a certain thing happen, and I probably seem like a total tease, but it is coming soon-ish I promise. We've just got to get all our dominoes stacked up first before we knock 'em down in a nice big chain-reaction ;P (If that makes sense, lol)
> 
> Y'all are the best, thanks so much for reading ♥

The remainder of the summer flew by in a giddy whirl of magic and a mounting feeling of cabin fever.

Newt kept Ariel perched on the rocky island in the river, only taking the castle on occasional trips across the hills during the brightest part of the day to scout for signs of corruption in the meadows. These missions were done at a sprint, back by nightfall, protected from danger once more by starlight and running water. And, of course, they didn’t afford anyone a chance to actually step outside.

It was hard for Newt, Credence could tell. The wizard spent more and more time gazing wistfully out the window, or dedicating hours to roaming through the habitats. But what he really wanted, Credence thought, was to go on a nice long walk out into the forest, where the sky was real and the trees were endless and there were all manner of wild creatures just waiting to be discovered. He was like a caged beast, pacing and restless.

Credence himself was feeling a bit stir-crazy as well, but at least he had his lessons to distract him, and the lingering question of how to help Grimm weighing on his mind. He was still at a loss as to what was bothering his wolf, ashamed and frustrated, staring out the open window at night with the animal wrapped protectively in his arms, drawing strength from the rushing of the water and the vast silver light of the stars. He would figure it out eventually. Perhaps if he learned as much magic as possible, he could be more helpful. 

When he was feeling antsy, he walked laps with Grimm around the edge of Frank’s habitat in that magical room, watching the thunderbird soar up under the fabricated sky and rain droplets of fresh water down on the conjured grass. Sometimes Mira would join them, grinning as she rode Newt’s broom through the fall of rain, hooting with exhilaration.  
It was an unexpected boon when, one morning, Mira asked if Credence might like to try flying too. 

“I suppose,” he replied slowly, as Mira hopped off the broomstick and held it out to Credence. 

“I bet you’ll like it!” she chirped. “Just don’t go too high, or Newt will get worried.”

Credence stared at the shiny wooden handle of the broom. How on earth did this work? Did he just need to _believe_ it could fly, like lighting the fire? He and Newt hadn’t made that much progress with his lessons yet, what if he didn’t have enough power to get up off the ground?

“Here,” said Mira easily. “Put this on first.” She was holding out some sort of hard leather helmet.

“Alright,” he said nervously. “Is that… what do I need that for?” Was the broom likely to buck him off?

“It’s just a precaution,” the girl said promptly. “You know, ‘cause your skull is susceptible to breakage under immense force.”

Oh, lord. That was both horrifying and endearing. She sounded just like Newt.

“Put your leg over,” she went on. “Now, say ‘up!’”

“Up,” Credence commanded, and the next thing he knew, he was blinking down at her from several feet in the air, sweaty hands squeezing the wood, his heart hammering. “Oh, my.”

Grimm watched from below with wide dark eyes as Mira laughed and clapped her hands. “That’s it! Now, use the handle to steer, and lean forward when you’re ready to start moving. Newt has the safety charms on strong, so you can’t really go very fast, but it’s still fun!”

Indeed, it was. Once Credence stopped feeling as if he was going to slip right off the slender piece of wood, he started to revel in the feeling of weightlessness, the thrill of being up off the ground. Everything looked different up here, the habitats, the creatures. He circled slowly around Frank’s habitat and then ventured off over the small forest, staring down at the occamys’ nest, the niffler burrow, the tree where Annabelle slept snug in her cocoon. He drifted back down to the ground after that, handing the broom back to a delighted Mira, but he felt as if something inside him was waking up, floaty with delight.

It became a routine, after that. Each morning after breakfast he would fly circles around the habitats, Grimm loping along below, the wolf staring up in mild agitation at the broom as it carried Credence fifteen feet out of his reach. Grimm seemed relieved every time Credence’s feet touched back to the ground, but for Credence flying was like learning he had a second pair of lungs to breathe with, something so surprising and natural that he couldn’t believe he’d lived this long without it. He longed to go higher, to keep soaring on and on forever, breathing in the crisp clear air as it whipped against his face.

Nevertheless, when flying time was over, he was happy to return to the ground. Because the rest of the day was equally as marvelous.

The rest of the day, he got to study _magic_.

They were starting slow, which was probably a good thing for Credence’s shaky confidence. Some of it was familiar, too, things Credence had seen Mira do before, like identifying creatures and making potions. Credence, hesitantly proud, was making a fair show of progress in both; he had a ready mind for memorizing and he liked learning about beasts, and brewing potions was a lot like cooking. And he had always been good at following recipes.

Herbology, though, was easily his favorite. Newt had a sunny little greenhouse in the habitat room, behind the runespoor cave and the demiguise nest, and the plants there were so happy that Credence could almost feel their contentment like a caress on his face. Even the more dangerous specimens had grown docile and lazy under Newt’s tender care; the venomous tentacula still liked to tangle its long spiny tendrils around anyone who got too close and leave little bits of sap in their hair, but it did so in a manner far more playful than aggressive. The snargaluff hardly even needed to be manhandled to give up its pods, as long as Newt was there murmuring soothingly to it.

But that was the thing about Newt, wasn’t it? He was gentle and careful, and any plant or animal he chose to nurture couldn’t help but come to trust him. Credence trailed after him through the raised beds, watching the flowers bloom and the leaves on the flutterby bush rustle flirtatiously when the wizard walked by. Credence smiled. That flutterby bush was shamelessly in love with Newt. 

“Would you mind taking care of watering the herb garden today, darling?” the wizard asked, looking over his shoulder as he pulled on his gloves. “I’d best have a look at what’s wrong with that wiggentree sapling, it’s been pouting all week.”

“Alright,” Credence murmured, eagerly pulling on his own work gloves. Outside in the small orchard, he could hear Mira chattering to Grimm as she harvested shrivelfigs, Pickett perched on her shoulder.

The work was slow and calming, and the cool shower pouring from his watering can caught the light as it fell, sparkling in a myriad of colors. The smell of wet earth and delicate green leaves made something distant and sweet uncurl in Credence’s chest, simple and perfect. Everything about this felt so _right_.

This one is… burdock, he thought to himself, testing his memory as he moved down the row of little plants. Burdock was good for aura-cleansing and restoring the life force, especially when paired with ginger. Newt could pick it wild in the hills, of course, but he liked to have a backup in here, too. He stepped along to the next one. Rosemary, spiky and familiar. Good for protection and warding off evil. He still thought it was strange how close he’d been to the truth, back when he’d had his momentary bit of fun offering that little sprig to the boy in the city. Had he…? Was there a chance he’d known, somehow, deep down? Was that a nudge from his gift?

But Credence couldn’t be sure. He still wasn’t completely convinced he had any gift for prophecy at all. He and Newt had been trying a bit of divination in the afternoons, but so far nothing had produced any results, no stirrings of instinct or visions. Credence had stared determinedly at the crystal ball and the sludgy dark tea leaves at the bottom of his cup until his head hurt, but still nothing happened. 

Maybe he wasn’t really a seer, Credence thought glumly. But at least he seemed to do reasonably well with plants. 

Parsley, he recited to himself, watering the next one in the row. Parsley, for power and magical success. And the next one was skullcap, little purple blooms trembling happily as he poured rain over the soil. Skullcap was good for pain relief and deep sleep, useful in all sorts of potions. He moved to the last plant, reaching out to touch the clusters of tiny white flowers and feathery leaves. Yarrow, bright and clean. He liked yarrow. Something about it seemed so cheerful, so robust. Yarrow, he thought to himself, was excellent for poultices, helped to stop infection. The sunlight winked at him off of the herb’s white petals and the leaves bobbed slightly, almost as if in approval. Credence smiled, trickling the last of the water out of his can to seep into the bed around the plant’s roots.

“All done,” he said, hanging the watering can back on its hook on the glass wall. 

“Wonderful,” Newt said, rising from his crouch over the wiggentree sapling and sending a curious glance toward the herb garden. “My goodness, they look quite pleased.” 

Credence turned back toward the row he’d just watered, a little surprised to find that all the plants looked a bit taller than before. The yarrow even seemed to have sneakily sprouted some new buds while he wasn’t looking. “Oh!” he said, confused. “Is that… is that normal?”

Newt let out a lovely warm laugh as he brushed the hair out of his eyes with the back of his wrist. “Not really, no,” he replied. “But that’s the beauty of magic. Everyone’s got different talents.” He beamed at Credence. “And _you_ , darling, have a green thumb if ever I saw one. Here, come and look at this sapling, tell me what you think might be making it unhappy.”

Shyly, Credence made his way to the back corner, where Newt kept the taller potted shrubs and young trees, rich green foliage waving lazily overhead. It was humid in the greenhouse, and the wizard had stripped off his waistcoat and unbuttoned his collar, displaying the subtle freckles that trailed down his neck.

“Um,” Credence said, clearing his throat and focusing on the adolescent tree in its wide-rimmed pot. “It’s… it looks wilted.” The leaves were drooping, the bark slightly pale instead of glossy brown.

“I agree,” Newt said patiently, reaching out to stroke one slender branch. “And what do you think might be the reason?”

A breeze swirled in from the open glass door, and the tree sighed discontentedly, a quiet sulky sound. Credence wrapped his fingers around the trunk, frowning. Something about that little tree felt familiar; made him think of tight spaces, being stuck in the church attic, trapped in a life too small and narrow to allow him any freedom.

“It needs a bigger pot,” he said, inexplicably certain. “Or possibly no pot at all. It wants to go in the ground, have more room to stretch out, be independent.” He looked up, meeting Newt’s intent green eyes. The wizard was watching him silently, his expression a bit bemused, and Credence’s confidence faltered. Oh, lord, was he completely wrong? That answer had come out of nowhere; since when had he been one to spout such far-fetched nonsense? He wasn’t even sure trees cared about independence.

But Newt was beaming now, and nodding. “I think that’s exactly it, darling,” he said, voice soft with pride. “Nicely done.” He pulled out his wand, looking thoughtful. “Well, then,” he went on, “we should certainly give it a nice big space. Maybe out by the occamys, nice mix of direct and indirect sun. We can see if Pickett might like to stay in its branches. He does need to start living like a normal bowtruckle eventually, the odd little chap. Don’t want him to forget how to catch his own wood lice.” He flicked his wrist, levitating the heavy pot off the ground. “I suspect Mira has been spoiling him a bit.” 

He floated the tree carefully out the door, beckoning Credence to follow with a subtle tilt of his head. As if Credence would wish to do anything else.

It was awfully handy to be able to use magic to help with the planting process. Credence was sure it would’ve taken them much longer to situate the young tree in the ground if Newt hadn’t been able to dig the hole instantly with a careful charm and then levitate the sapling out of its pot and into its new home in a matter of moments. 

“There we go,” Newt murmured, settling the soil back into the hole and nestling the plant in place. “Nice and comfortable, that’s it, plenty of room to keep growing laterally, we want a nice spread of roots. Darling, could you fill the largest watering can for me?” Credence hurried to comply. “We’ll make a little reservoir here, you see, like a wall to hold the water where we want it and let it drain slowly.” Newt’s gloved hands were gently molding the soil into a curved lip around the tree. “Alright, that looks like it’ll do. Go ahead and pour… yes, perfect, that’s it. You can keep going until you’ve made a little lake up to the edge.”

“Okay.” Credence relished the burn in his muscles from the heavy watering can, enjoying the satisfaction of watching the tree leaves flutter as the soil grew dark and moist. There was a similar fluttering going on in his chest, too, a little bit of breathlessness from the exertion, perhaps. Or maybe it was the sight of Newt smiling at him, the sound of his voice.

Credence had been finding it hard to keep his head together when Newt called him ‘darling.’

“That looks like it should be plenty,” Newt said, and Credence abruptly straightened up again. The little reservoir was full, a rippling puddle of cool water, and Credence set the watering can off to the side.

“Lovely,” Newt said in satisfaction. “Yes, I think the tree will grow quite well here.” He brushed the soil off his gloves, then swiped at the knees of his work trousers. “Mmm. Maybe just one little boost to help ease the transition, a nudge of encouragement. Darling, you might enjoy this, too, come put your hand here. Best take your gloves off first.”

Oh, gosh, there was that endearment again. Credence felt a subtle shiver of pleasure zip up his spine. He yanked off his gardening gloves and stood closer, laying his palm over the bark of the tree in the spot Newt had directed him to.

“What we’re going to do,” Newt breathed, folding his fingers right over Credence’s, “is lend a bit of energy to help the roots start to grow. It doesn’t need much assistance, really, it’s a hardy tree, but I like to do this anyway.” His eyes crinkled in a bashful half-smile. “It’ll be fairly subtle, so don’t worry if you aren’t sure you feel anything, just think about the tree, picture it growing nice and tall. With each of us wishing it well, the sapling should have plenty of motivation to get growing over the next few days.”

They were standing pressed shoulder to shoulder, so close that Credence could count the feathery gold eyelashes lining Newt’s incredible green eyes, the delicate freckles on the bridge of his nose.

“Ready?” the wizard asked.

Credence swallowed. “Uh huh.”

Newt’s eyes fluttered shut, and a second later Credence could _feel_ him begin the spell. It was like a warm flood of intention, unmistakable and strong, rushing into the bark of the tree through their joined fingers. He gaped in amazement, a little confused. That didn’t feel subtle at all.

But it certainly did feel nice. Credence forced himself to stop staring at Newt’s relaxed face and focus his attention back to the tree, imagining the leaves soaking up the sun and drinking from the soil, hungry and eager, the branches growing thicker and the roots spreading wide and deep. He closed his eyes and pictured the tree growing mature, with rich brown bark and a rustling canopy of glossy foliage. 

He felt a sparkling burst of _something_ behind his breastbone, tasted heat on the back of his tongue. And then there was a groan of wood, creaking and stretching, and Newt let out a sudden shout.

“Oh! Merlin’s beard!”

Credence’s eyes flew open again. Newt, shocked, pulled Credence’s hand away from the tree, holding it tightly as he stared at the trunk, which was now at least four times as thick as before. The topmost leaves were waving cheerily high above their heads, and several broad forked branches had spread themselves solidly outward. It looked like a mature tree, healthy and strong.

And there was something still pulsing between Newt and Credence, caught in the clasp of their two hands, fizzing where skin met skin.

“Oh,” Newt breathed, stunned.

Credence, uncertain and a little alarmed, didn’t move a muscle. “Was that… did I mess it up?” he whispered. “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” Newt croaked hurriedly, staring at their entwined fingers. “No, it’s… everything’s fine, I just… are _you_ hurt? Tired out? That was far more energy than I meant for us to give.”

Credence shook his head. “I feel fine.”

Even more than fine, actually. He felt wonderful, giddy and strange, but very light and tingly. And he could still feel the warm flow of Newt’s magic swirling around him, _through_ him. It was as if they had completed a circuit, the crackling buzz of power rushing happily between both of them. 

“Alright then,” Newt said shakily. He was smiling through his shock now, hazy with amazement. “You… can you feel that?” He squeezed Credence’s hand tighter. He looked baffled. “I can feel… I can _feel_ you. Your _magic_ , I’ve never… I mean, I’ve heard of this happening, but it’s supposed to be so tricky for covens to master.” He let out a faint laugh. “Never realized it was something you could do by accident.”

Credence barely dared to breathe. “You mean… we cast that spell together?” he asked. “A joint… um. A joint casting?” It seemed like forever ago that he’d read that book about covens and reciprocal magic, and he’d never even dreamed that it would have any relevance to him. He and Newt must be highly compatible, magically and… emotionally. Credence felt his heartbeat speed up.

“Yes, I think that’s what happened,” Newt said, glancing at the branches towering over them. “Instead of two spells, we ended up with one, which explains the, er…” He waved a hand up at the tree. “Our magic must’ve multiplied together, amplifying itself. The power boost is quite substantial when you’ve got twice as much magic and a synchronized focus.” He squinted into the sunshine. “Goodness, we really gave that little sapling a growth spurt. Now all the other trees are going to be jealous.”

To his own surprise, Credence couldn’t hold in a sudden laugh. It was just too unbelievable not to laugh about, really.

And then Newt was laughing too, bright and uninhibited, and Mira and Grimm came loping through the trees to see what the ruckus was.

“Uncle Newt?” Mira said, tilting her head and raising an eyebrow in a gesture that reminded Credence strongly of Jacob. “You alright?” 

“Oh yes, fine and dandy,” Newt said giddily. “Nothing strange here, we just made a tree. Look, Pickett!” He gestured to the little creature perched on Mira’s head. “We made you a tree!”

And that, of course, set Credence off laughing again.

 

Even when things had calmed down later, a smile stuck helplessly on Credence’s face, stubbornly remaining as he rolled out the dough for knishes, listening to Newt help Mira brew a shrinking solution in her practice cauldron. He kept catching himself grinning over the top of the cookbook as he finished making dinner, unaccustomed to this strange happy squirming feeling under his skin. He wasn’t sure what to make of it.

After they had eaten, Credence pulled out his magical theory book and joined Newt on the couch by the fire, wondering whether tonight would be the night they finally began to move past spell theory and into actual spell casting.

That was the one thing he wanted to do even more than herbology, the one thing he hadn’t had the chance to try yet. Actual _spells_. He knew Newt wanted to give Credence a foundation in magical principles first, so he’d have some knowledge to build from, but he was itching to start practicing for real. It would happen, soon, and he couldn’t wait.

Tonight, however, Newt appeared to have something entirely different in mind.

“I want to try a bit of meditation, if you’ll indulge me,” the wizard said. 

He had moved Credence down to sit cross-legged on the carpet, breathing in the silent room while the fire flickered and the mountain air outside grew fresh and cool in the falling dusk. “Close your eyes and focus on your breathing. Try to relax, clear your mind,” Newt said softly, his hand steady on Credence’s shoulder. “Feel for your magic inside you. Picture it as specifically as you can.” 

Credence tried to narrow his focus to that place behind his breastbone that had flared hot earlier, sparkling with silvery light. As soon as he thought about it, that bright place seemed to flare in greeting, spreading warmth through his chest and tingling down his arms.

“Oh,” Credence mumbled. “Okay, got it.”

“Alright, very good,” Newt murmured. “Now, what would you say it looks like? First thing that pops into your head?”

Dreamily, Credence smiled, a gleaming twinkle forming in his mind’s eye. “A star,” he murmured.

There was a moment of quiet. “Really?” Newt sounded pleasantly surprised. 

“Ooh, that’s interesting,” came Ariel’s whispered voice from the painting above them. “I didn’t guess that one.”

Newt shushed her. 

“Well,” Credence went on uncertainly, “that’s what it reminds me of.”

Newt’s hand squeezed his shoulder gently, a comforting pressure.

“Then that’s what it is,” Newt said firmly. “If that’s what it looks like to you, that’s all that matters.” There was a shuffle of cloth as the wizard re-situated himself across the rug from Credence. “What else do you notice?” he asked. “Can you hear it, smell it? Is it warm?”

Credence furrowed his brow, feeling as if a tickling night breeze was ruffling his hair, fresh and clean and scented with rosemary and moonlight.

“Um. It’s… it smells like herbs,” he said stiltedly. 

“Herbs,” put in Ariel again. “Got a bit of hedgecraft then, like Newt. Not a big surprise. You feel good around plants, yes?”

Yes, he definitely he did. Newt’s hands were gentle as they pressed something into Credence’s palm, folding his fingers around it. “Alright, very good,” he breathed, “Keep breathing, nice and slow. This is a bit of mugwort, it might help focus your inner sight. I’d like you to picture your magic filling you up, surrounding you, floating through every part of you. And then, just let your mind wander wherever it seems to want to go.” 

Credence tried not to be distracted by Newt’s warm fingers, the slide of his calloused hand letting go of Credence’s wrist. Newt, in general, was very distracting, but in close proximity like this it was particularly hard for Credence to concentrate. 

Resolutely, he pictured that light in his chest expanding outward, floating up to the surface of his skin. His scalp was tingling, his body warmed by a slow shiver of exhilaration as lights danced behind his closed eyelids. Outside the window, he could almost _feel_ the stars looking down at him, distant and curious. He pictured himself full of little shining sparkles of fire, answering their silent beacon with an internal light of his own.

And then he let his mind drift.

His consciousness wandered, peaceful as the wind that swept over the meadow, caressing the trees in a quiet sigh. He lost himself in imagining the plummeting dark of night, the distant white loneliness of the moon. He imagined himself up there, folded into the velvety blackness. The stars were singing to him, happy and sad, a quiet echo of memory. A refrain, from years and years ago. Credence could feel the song in his bones, strange and half-familiar, the song of falling, of breaking a piece off of the heavens and plummeting toward the earth in a streak of fire and crackling hot vapor.

He thought he’d heard it before, in a dream. A beautiful dream, with a woman in it, wasn’t that right? A woman who had Credence’s eyes, dark and deep like the night. She was there, in his mind, now, blurry and vague. Smiling. She was smiling at him with so much love he couldn’t breathe, and stroking his hair. Her lips moved, though her voice was only a sigh and whisper. _My little ember_ , she breathed. Those words were familiar. _Your father would be so proud._ There were trees waving behind her head, backlit by the moon, and she stroked his cheek, one arm holding him securely, balanced on her hip. Then she pointed up at the sky. _See? Now you shine just like he did, before._

This… he had seen this already. Maybe even _lived_ this already, long ago. This was a memory, he was growing certain of it.

 _You have his light, now_ , the woman whispered, holding him close. _You have his heart, beautiful and kind. He loved you so much, my darling. And even though he is gone, his brothers and sisters will always watch over you._ She looked upward. Credence clung to her, peering up over her shoulder. The stars looked down at them, bright and observant.

_I will protect you, too, my sweet boy. That wizard will never find us. I will make sure of it, this time._

Her voice was thick, her smile edged with sadness.

And then she was carrying him onward, making her way through the trees. The night grew darker, so dark he couldn’t see anymore, and then it dissolved into nothing.

 

Credence opened his eyes.

“Oh, hey,” breathed Ariel. “Are you back now?” She was pressed right up against her canvas, wide brown eyes looking down at him in what might have been concern.

Credence blinked, his legs feeling as stiff as if he’d been sitting there for an hour. Perhaps he had. Grimm appeared to have curled himself at Credence’s side and fallen asleep, and Newt was over at the table, pouring a cup of tea. The wizard set the kettle down immediately when he saw that Credence was alert again.

“Are you feeling alright?” the wizard asked, hurrying over, cup in hand. “You were in quite deep for a while. Can you remember what you saw?”

Oh, yes, he certainly could. For a few moments, Credence couldn’t speak, his voice stuck behind a lump of something painful and raw lodged in his throat. He had always thought his memories of her were lost, beaten out of him long ago. Ma had certainly done her best to prevent him from looking back on his sinful origins.

Newt’s hand was gentle on his shoulder. “Credence. Can you hear me, darling?”

Jerkily, Credence nodded, heat gathering behind his eyes. “I…” he choked. “I saw my…” He wasn’t sure he could say it without crying. “I saw my mother,” he said thickly. The tears burned as they escaped, slipping down his cheeks, quiet and gleaming. “My real mother. She was… carrying me, out in the woods. She told me I had my father’s light.” 

He heard a soft intake of breath from Ariel. Newt gently cupped his face with both hands, thumbing away his tears.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Newt murmured.

“Newt, please, I… she’s gone. Show me how to do that again, how do I see her again, I need…” He swallowed hard, aware that his voice was coming out as a whine.

“Darling,” the wizard said carefully, tenderly. “You will see her again, I promise, but probably not tonight. Visions come and go, they can’t be commanded.” He brushed Credence’s hair off his forehead, tucking it behind his ear. “Perhaps you could do with some rest.” It was very late. The moon was fully risen, pouring its light down over the river outside.

“What…” Credence began hoarsely. “What did she mean? She said my father was gone… and there was something about his heart. And that the sky would watch over me.”

Newt’s wide eyes were beautiful up close, green and glimmering gold. “Credence, I think… perhaps your father was a star.” 

The fire crackled softly as Credence tried to wrap his head around that. How was that possible? How could a star have a child? On the other hand… if he thought about how those words made him feel, it made complete sense.

“They fall to earth sometimes, according to legend,” Newt breathed. “It only happens every few centuries or so, if the stories are true. To be honest, I thought it was a myth.”

Credence took a deep, shaky breath. So this… this was real. He was the result of some strange magical alchemy, a blended mix of normal and _impossible_. 

This was… so strange.

“It’s true,” Ariel was saying, nodding at Newt. “The last star to fall was four hundred years back. I heard part of the story from the unicorns, back when I still lived in my grove.” She let out a wistful sigh, propping her chin on her hand. “Good-looking girl, apparently, hair like moonlight. Made a crater when she landed, had to run away from some witches who wanted eternal youth, but she ended up alright. Wound up married to a human king, lived an impressively long time. Actually, far as I know, the pair of them are still alive, enjoying a long retirement.”

Newt smiled warmly at Credence. “Well, then.” The wizard stroked his cheek again. “It doesn’t have to change who you are, of course, darling. But it’s good to know where you came from.” He helped Credence to his feet with a hand under his elbow, steadying him when Credence’s numb, stiff legs buckled slightly. Grimm heaved himself up, blinking sleepily, pressing against Credence’s knee.

“But what… what does this mean for my magic?” Credence asked tiredly. His body felt wrung out, exhausted, even though his mind was churning. He leaned heavily on Newt as they shuffled toward the stairs.

“Well,” Newt replied, wrapping an arm around his waist. “I’m not entirely sure, yet. I’ve never taught a star before. But I suppose we’ll find out as we go. At least we know more about your gifts now.”

“We do?” Credence said muzzily.

“I’d say so,” Newt answered gently as they climbed the stairs. “We know Tina was right about your gift of prophecy, and we know how to relax your mind to give you access to your sight. I think you can expect more visions to come.” Grimm’s claws clicked on the wood behind them. “And, I think, we know something about your mother,” Newt said.

Credence looked at him, his brow furrowed. “She was human, do you think?” he asked.

Newt nodded. “Must’ve been. If she weren't, I think you’d look a good deal more exotic.” 

Oh, my. That was a strange thought. Credence could’ve wound up with blue skin and horns, or something! What on earth would Ma have done about that? Credence gulped. Nothing good, that was for certain.

“And I don’t think you could’ve inherited your hedgecraft from anyone but her,” the wizard went on. “A star has no familiarity with green growing things, after all.” They stepped from the staircase into the hall, toward the door to Credence’s bedroom. “It’s an interesting combination you’ve ended up with,” the wizard murmured. “Deep ties to the earth, along with an affinity for the heavens. I’d say that’s pretty unique. It’s a little contradictory, but it’s very beautiful.”

“Oh,” Credence managed, unsure what to say to that. This was all still a little overwhelming. He rubbed a hand over his eyes while Grimm trotted through the doorway and hopped up onto the wide bed. “Will we try again?” Credence asked, sitting next to the wolf on the soft mattress to unlace his boots. “Meditate again? Maybe I can see more.”

“If you want to,” Newt replied, his voice soft. He ran his fingers over Grimm’s furry head, then tucked a lock of hair behind Credence’s ear. “Anything you like.”

Credence’s cheeks felt a little warm. “Okay.” Newt pulled away, lingering in the doorway.

Outside his window, the stars winked.

“Good night, darling,” the wizard murmured. “I’d best let you get to sleep.”

Credence took a deep breath. Whatever he’d found out tonight, at least Newt didn’t seem to be treating him any differently. Even if they had found out he was half-troll, he had a feeling Newt’s affectionate kindness wouldn’t have changed.

That thought made him smile. “Good night.”

 

Credence had strange dreams that night after Newt had gone. He dreamed that he was flying on a broom over the hills, following the line of the river in a desperate hurry. The wind was cold, and rain whipped in his eyes, and he could no longer see where he was going. He was lost, blinking and afraid, and the sky was full of clouds. He couldn’t see the stars.

Credence jerked awake in the misty pre-dawn of morning, Grimm pressed heavy against his back, the smell of rain in his nose. A storm had come during the later hours of night, leaving the pines on the edge of the river gleaming with droplets of water, the air thick with moist fog and the oncoming chill of autumn. 

Summer was nearing its end.

Mira seemed to get more and more wistful with each passing day, begging Newt for longer periods spent brushing the graphorns, playing with Pickett and riding the broom with Frank, all the things she was going to miss when she went home to her parents for the colder months.

Not that she wasn’t looking forward to being home as well. Credence could see it in the way she wrote happily to her mother each day in her journal, the incandescent joy on her face when Queenie’s head appeared eerily suspended in the flames of the fireplace. ‘Flooing,’ as they called it. Credence had nearly choked on his tea when it had happened the first time.

Credence’s lessons continued, sometimes successful and sometimes not. To his delight, Newt had started helping him cast actual spells, though the results were not always what he intended. His beginner magic, it seemed, was inconsistent. Even spells he’d managed before seemed newly difficult; Newt watched patiently while Credence blushed and fumbled his way through trying to light a fire in the grate, nervous despite knowing he had succeeded before.

“Don’t worry, darling,” Newt said, reaching over to squeeze his hand. “I know it’s hard to– _Oh!_ ”

Perhaps boosted by the touch of Newt’s fingers and the ripple of their joined magic, the half-charred log Credence had been concentrating on flared suddenly brighter. And then, somehow, it turned into a lump of petrified wood. 

“Merlin's beard,” Newt breathed.

“Um… I,” Credence stammered. “I was trying for fire.”

Newt looked stunned. “Well, you did light a flame, for a second, it looked like. And then you… fossilized it. I’m not even sure how that’s possible, without the passage of time and the presence of volcanic ash, but I’m impressed anyway.”

The petrified wood became a paperweight on Credence’s tiny desk, and their studies continued. 

Newt tried to teach him to fill a glass with water without using the faucet, something that he couldn’t seem to get the hang of no matter how many times he patiently incanted “ _aguamenti_ ,” visualizing clear liquid trickling into the glass, listening to the rushing of the river outside. In the end, he was left with disappointment. And a strange and uncomfortable need for the lavatory. 

He was shocked, on the other hand, when one evening after a long day of helping muck out the graphorns’ habitat, Credence plodded wearily to the washroom and stripped eagerly for his bath, only to find that the tub had filled itself for him in the blink of an eye. The water was steaming hot and smelled faintly of rosemary.

“It must have to do with practicality, then,” Newt said thoughtfully, the next morning. “You’ve got to have a purpose in mind. If you want the water for something relatively useful, not just an arbitrary spell, it’s more likely to work.” 

They tried a different tactic after that. When Credence came downstairs, stomach growling, ready to make breakfast, he’d point his finger at the stove burner firmly.

“Light up, you.”

And it did. Newt had been rather baffled when none of the conventional incantations had worked as well for Credence as simple, plain commands. 

“It makes perfect sense to me,” commented Ariel. “You humans with your silly latin and your fancy wand-waving. What does it matter what language you say it in? The sentiment is the same, as long as you say it with confidence. Raw magic isn’t civilized, it doesn’t care about being stylish. When Credence asks for fire, he gets it, that’s what’s important.”

They moved on to more difficult things, like summoning objects to sail toward him, which Credence found much harder than Newt made it look. Even Newt admitted that the spell was hard to master. 

“It took me quite a long while to get the hang of it, actually,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “Funny enough, at first it was easier for me to conjure something new rather than summoning something that already existed. But, as you’ve no doubt heard me say before, different magic works better for different people. Unlike me, Queenie is quite good at kinesthetic magic… er, summoning and levitation charms. You should see her in the kitchen, making the ingredients dance in the air.”

“And Jacob?” Credence asked, “Does his magic help with his baking?”

“Oh! No, actually,” Newt replied. “Jacob doesn’t have any magic. His talents are all from his own hard work and the skill of his hands. There’s something quite impressive about that.”

Credence blinked. Somehow, he had missed the fact that Jacob didn’t have a wand, though now that he thought about it, the man had never actually talked about being a wizard himself. “I see,” he said. “So, he’s a normal person, but he still gets to live in the magical world!”

Newt smiled at his enthusiasm. “Yes, he does,” he said, quietly. “Though it took a good bit of lobbying on Tina’s part to sway the Queen to allow it. Usually, people without magic aren’t allowed to know anything about us, the law is very clear. But Seraphina passed a bill that made an exception for spouses and immediate family.” He sighed. “Despite all our disagreements, I will always be grateful to her for that. She is a progressive monarch, even if that progress is grudging.”

“Huh,” Credence said, eyes wide.

“And Tina can be quite persistent once she’s got a cause in her head. She wore Her Majesty down eventually,” Newt mused. “I’ve never been more grateful for her tenacity.” There was a smirk playing around his mouth. “And I suspect it helps that Seraphina has a deep appreciation for strong, well-spoken women.”

Credence nodded slowly, smiling. “So… in the end, Jacob was able to marry Queenie,” he said, “and then they had Mira, and she needed a teacher, so they found you?”

“Oh, no,” Newt said, chuckling. “We go back a good deal further. We met the first time I visited the city, in fact. I had the niffler with me, and… well, it was a bit of a catastrophe; I dragged Jacob into the middle of a mess of trouble, got arrested by Tina… it’s a long story. But, in the end, Jacob ended up introduced to Queenie, and we all became friends, and it seems as if the years have only brought us closer and closer. Queenie and Jacob insisted on making me godfather when Mira was born, after I, er… gave them the collateral to open their bakery.”

“You did?” Credence said, grinning.

“Erm. Yes,” Newt said, looking a bit sheepish. “Solid silver occamy eggshells. Funny thing about my line of work is you end up arbitrarily accumulating certain valuable commodities, with no particular need for them. So, I’ve… fallen into the habit of passing them along to those who have a use for them instead.” He shrugged, as if embarrassed. 

“That was a generous gift,” Credence murmured. Solid silver! He had no idea how much that was worth, but it had to be a lot. 

“It was nothing, really,” Newt said honestly, “Just a speck in comparison to the gift they’ve given me.” His eyes tracked up toward the stairs and the upper floor, where Mira could be faintly heard singing to Pickett. “I don’t suppose I’ll ever be able to have children of my own,” he said quietly. “But she more than makes up for it, these summers we’ve spent together. Such a bright, happy spark.”

The two of them shared a brief, glowing smile.

“Well, shall we get back to it?” Newt asked. “Let’s see if you have more luck with the summoning spell than I did the first day I tried it.”

Perhaps it was Mira’s singing upstairs, or perhaps it was the warmth of Newt’s smile, but Credence managed the spell perfectly. With a firm murmur of “come here, please” the cookbook sailed across the room on a gust of wind to land in his palm.

 

Later that week, Credence was busy making pierogis again, carefully directing sausages to sail into a pan for Grimm and listening while he cooked to Newt and Mira practicing advanced charms by the fire. They were doing levitation today, though it involved a great deal more whispering and giggling than Credence thought was normal. 

The aim of their hushed scheming became clear soon enough. Credence laughed when first the couch cushions lifted into the air, then a bowl of cherries on the table, the oven mitts on the counter, and finally Grimm himself, the wolf looking around in startled consternation as his paws floated up several inches off the kitchen floor where he’d been watching Credence work.

“Hey!” Credence said, chuckling, wrapping his arms around Grimm’s nervous bulk and tugging him back to the ground. “Watch where you’re pointing that spell!”

Mira was giggling madly, Newt clearly egging her on, his eyes shining as he grinned at Credence. “I just wanted to make sure Mira had a range of subjects to practice on, right darling?”

“Of course, Uncle Newt,” she laughed.

“Oh, I see, you two are just a pair of troublemakers, aren’t you,” Credence replied. The spatula in his hand wriggled out of his grip and went soaring lazily up to the ceiling. “Well, how am I going to finish dinner now?” he teased. “You really didn’t think this through. See, you ought to have gone for my– _oh!_ ”

Now they both had their wands pointed at Credence and he was rising up into the air, laughing, to float suspended just under the ceiling. “Well, I can’t say I prefer this to the broom, but it is kind of fun.” Grimm didn’t seem to agree, his ears back and his eyes wide where he sat staring worriedly up at Credence.

“We thought you could use a break from cooking, to put your feet up,” Newt said, smirking playfully.

“Oh yes? And I suppose you decided to put the rest of me up as well,” Credence retorted. 

Mira was laughing so hard there were tears squeezing out of the corners of her eyes. 

“Yes, precisely,” Newt said, mock-serious. “And now I can confirm without any doubt that Mira’s mastered this spell. Good job, darling.” 

“Thanks,” the girl wheezed.

Credence raised his eyebrows, grinning. “I’d say she’s got it. Though perhaps you should let me back down so I can turn over the sausages before they burn.”

Mira giggled. “Oh, okay, fine.”

Newt walked over into the kitchen to stand below Credence. “Alright, Mira. Take him down nice and easy. I’ll be ready to catch him just in case.” The girl lowered him steadily until the wizard could take hold of him around the waist. “There we go,” Newt said, very softly.

Credence felt a bit strange, giddy and winded. He was still mostly weightless, his hands on Newt’s shoulders as he floated down into his arms, lost in the clear green of his eyes. He remembered how reluctant Newt had been to make eye contact on that first evening when they met. 

Now, it seemed the opposite. They stared at each other, both of them unable or unwilling to look away. Newt was gazing at him intently, with such contentment and tenderness that Credence almost couldn’t breathe. 

Newt looked at him as if… as if Credence was everything he wished to be looking at. As if he would be perfectly content to see Credence’s face every single day for the rest of his life, to pass through an eternity of time in Credence's company.

And Credence, heart pounding hard in his chest, felt rather desperately the same way.

“Ooh, Credence,” Mira said, “You’re all sparkly.”

“What?” Credence asked, flushing. 

Newt’s eyes widened. “It’s true, darling,” he said quietly. “You’re glowing.”

“Huh?” Credence looked down at himself in confusion, silver hair swinging around his face. 

“Well, technically,” Ariel said, sounding a bit smug, “I believe he’s _shining_. That’s what stars do, after all. Especially in moments of deep and complete happiness.”

Oh. He could see it now. There was a faint white gleam radiating from his skin, his hair, just enough to be visible even in the brightly-lit kitchen. “That’s never happened before,” he murmured, staring down at his hand in astonishment. “Not that I can remember.”

It was a good thing, too. If Ma had seen something like _this_ … oh, he would’ve been done for.

“Never?” Newt asked, his forehead creasing. “Perhaps it was dormant, along with your magic.”

Credence looked at him, biting his tongue. “Maybe.” 

Or maybe… well. Credence wasn’t sure how many moments of untarnished happiness he’d experienced up until now. Maybe there just hadn’t been any that were strong enough.

From the faint look of sadness in Newt’s eyes, he seemed to be considering the same thing. The wizard squeezed Credence tighter. “We’ll have to do our best to make you happy all the time from here on out, won’t we?” he said softly.

Credence smiled shyly back at him. This was even nicer than Queenie’s hug. Credence had his fingers tangled in Newt’s shirt, and the man’s arms felt so perfect wrapped around his waist, their bodies pressed together.

Oh, but something was burning on the stove.

“The… the sausages,” Credence stammered. “Got to… make sure they don’t get too crispy.” But it was awfully hard to make himself pull away. Halfheartedly, he began to back up out of Newt’s hold.

“Right, of course, yes,” the wizard said, reluctantly letting him go, fingers lingering for a moment on Credence’s hip.

 

Supper that night was quiet. Newt kept smiling shyly at Credence, who was blushing and grinning at his plate, absently running his fingers through Grimm’s fur. Mira was humming contentedly under her breath as she ate, small bits of food periodically floating up off her plate into her mouth.

“Darling,” Newt laughed. “I doubt your mother would approve of your playing with your food like that. Although I’m glad to see you’ve got such refined control.”

She grinned sweetly at him. “Well, I’ll be sure to only do it when Mom’s not looking, then.”

From her painting, Ariel snorted.

The rest of the evening seemed to pass like a dream, Mira working on her astronomy chart while Credence read a book on herb lore, Grimm seated beside him with his heavy head planted on Credence’s shoulder.

He went to bed that night languidly remembering the laughter on Newt’s face, his feathery eyelashes gold against his freckled cheeks as he stared at Credence in amazement. 

His dreams, however, were neither happy nor calm. Credence was in the rain again, flying doggedly under the clouds while his wet hair blinded him and his fingers froze on the handle of the broom. The wind was bitterly cold, buffeting him about like a tiny leaf caught helpless in the bucking airstream. Where was the river? There were wolves howling below him, vague shapes with blue eyes lurking in the trees. Credence flew higher, frightened.

The sky was growing dark, roiling thunderclouds pouring their wet burden down on the hills, flattening the grass and weighing down Credence’s sodden robes. 

_There_. He blinked the water out of his tired eyes, looking toward the west, where a faint bloom of light still clung orange to the crest of the hills. There it was, a sliver of slate-grey water winding past a stand of trees far in the distance. He’d been blown miles off course, and the wind was strong, the coming night deep and cold. He hunched his shoulders and flew on.

From there, the dream got more confusing. He was lost in the woods now, wandering among strange trees and thick bushes with no landmark he could recognize. Across a narrow clearing, he spotted a small house tucked among the pines, warm light spilling from the window, strings of dried herbs hanging around the door and a thick flowering briar wrapped around the porch, bursting with blooms. Someone was singing, silhouetted against the firelight, but Credence couldn’t hear any of the words, branches scraping against his cheek as he fought to get closer.

He blinked, and the singing figure was gone, the house barren and dark, vines dry and dead.

The trees grew darker, the spaces between them constricted and tangled, and he could no longer see the house, panic lodging itself in his throat. Credence struggled to move, urgent and frightened. The forest was full of danger, but he had to keep going; he was searching for someone very important, someone he loved deeply. He went crashing through the undergrowth, tripping over thick roots, until at last he emerged into a clearing bathed in moonlight, where a pale figure stood waiting by a fire. His eyes were blue and his smile was horrible and his lips were very, very red.

“Well, well. So kind of you to crawl out of your hedge and join me, witch,” the man said, his face young and beautiful and _wrong_. Something smelled sour, and there was an obsidian knife held in his fist, its sharp edge glinting with blood. “Such a beautiful night,” he drawled. “Enchanting, don't you think? The kind of night that makes you appreciate the miracle of life, fills you with gooey feelings, rainbows and butterflies, and all that.” His voice was familiar and smug, drenched with sarcasm. “How curious it is, that life should be so full of wonderful potential, power just waiting to be used, and yet our chance to enjoy it is so finite." He smiled, a joyless bloodstained smirk. "No man can live forever," he said slowly, with deliberate relish, "unless, perhaps, he possesses the heart of a star.”

With slow horror, Credence noticed that there was someone lying on the ground in the shadows at the edge of the trees, cold and motionless, silver hair spilling across dirt and pine needles.

A wrenching scream of grief split the air of the clearing, agonized and full of despair, and Credence jolted awake, stomach heaving, his pulse hammering in his throat. 

 

He took a while to calm down. 

Grimm stared at him in the dark, starlight flickering on his glossy black coat, ears twitching. Credence swallowed thickly, tasting bile, pressing closer to the wolf’s warm body. “Just a dream,” he said, with effort. Grimm’s wet nose pressed against his cheek, his fur bristly under Credence’s hand. “It was just a dream, right?”

Grimm whined softly. Credence got out of bed to pace over to the window, desperate to be reassured by the rushing of the river, the clean smell of the forest, the fresh air of the mountain.

Why would he dream such a horrible thing? The Wizard of the Waste, eating… eating a… 

_No_ , he couldn’t bear to think about it. Did wizards really do that? The stories told in the city were rumor, but rumor had to start somewhere, have some kernel of truth at the center. Grindelwald’s pale smooth face swam in front of Credence’s eyes, horrid and smiling, and he shivered and shook his head, casting the image away.

There was a thump as Grimm hopped down from the bed, coming over to press against Credence’s legs.

“Why don’t we go downstairs for a glass of water?” he murmured to the wolf, feeling nauseous. Perhaps the warmth of the fireplace would help.

The kitchen was dark and ghostly in the moonlight, the wood in the grate cold. Credence snapped his fingers and a low fire roared to life, crackling pleasantly under the mantel while he curled up on the couch with a glass of water, Grimm close against his side.

“Mmph?” The fire appeared to have woken Ariel, her sleepy face appearing in between the trees in her canvas, coming closer to the frame to investigate. “Credence, why are you up in the middle of the night?”

Credence stroked a hand down Grimm's spine and swallowed, looking up at Ariel reluctantly. “I… I had a dream,” he said hoarsely. “Not a restful one.”

She squinted at him carefully. “A dream, huh?” She tucked a tousled lock of green hair behind one small brown ear. “You think it was a prophecy? What did you see?”

Credence grimaced. “No, I…” He shuddered. “I hope it wasn’t a prophecy. I… saw _him_. Grindelwald. In the forest, with a knife. His mouth was… there was a body, it looked like he’d eaten…” But he didn’t want to say it, make it real. He didn’t want to think about how familiar that silver hair had looked.

“A heart?” asked Ariel sharply. 

Credence nodded woodenly. 

“Ah,” breathed Ariel, looking unhappy. “Yes, he does like to do that. There’s a whole ritual for it – a full moon, lots of ceremonial nastiness, he absorbs his victim’s power and vitality directly.”

Credence felt clammy sickness engulf him. Oh _God_ , had that been real? That had really happened?

“I’m so sorry, Credence,” Ariel said quietly. “That was a monstrous thing for you to have to witness. Grindelwald is an abomination of a wizard.”

Credence blanched, feeling as if he might cry. “How can it possibly be worth it, surviving so long by stealing life from others?” he said, anguished. “Just to stay young all the time? That doesn’t make him beautiful, it makes him _awful_.”

“Yes, Credence,” replied Ariel, looking sad. “It does. And you can see that, because you are a compassionate and well-balanced person. But he’s _insane_ , and obsessed with freezing himself in time like a wax doll.” 

Credence swallowed hard, his stomach churning.

“He doesn’t even really live life anymore,” Ariel went on. “He just sort of _consumes_ it without enjoyment, too focused on keeping his dried-out husk of a body fueled to realize there’s nothing he’s actually fueling it for.” She shook her head. “There’s no point. What is long life worth, if all he does is spend it alone, scrabbling for the means to stay beautiful? Nobody cares, nobody looks at him. Nobody loves him. There’s not enough of him left to feel it, even if they did.”

It was sad, pitiful. Credence blinked angrily, his eyes hot, tangling his fingers tightly in Grimm’s fur. He stared at the fire flickering in the grate. “So, how old is he really?” he croaked. “Does anybody even know?”

Ariel scoffed. “Old as dirt, probably. Let’s just say, he’s old enough that he shouldn’t be looking quite so sprightly anymore.”

“Ugh.” Credence closed his eyes, tucking a pillow under his head and lying down along the couch, the flames whispering and crackling in the fireplace. Grimm pressed himself tightly against him, licking his cheek.

“He’s a creepy old bastard, that’s for sure,” Ariel said softly. “Don’t think about him, now. You look like you could use some more rest.”

Credence shifted, trying his best to think about happier things. Newt’s smile earlier that evening, Mira’s giggle, how blissful Grimm had looked when Credence was washing his fur.

“You’re safe here, I promise,” Ariel said. “That wanker won’t touch you. Newt and I would never let him, not to mention your infatuated guard dog there. Get some sleep, Credence.”

With a sigh, he sank deeper into the couch, Grimm’s heavy head settling on his chest. The fire was warm, soft light against his closed eyelids.

He was very nearly asleep when he heard Ariel’s quiet whisper.

“Don’t give up, you big furball, he has room in his heart for both of you,” she said, so softly Credence couldn’t be sure he’d made out the words right. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, it’ll be fine. His feelings are pure, now you’ve just got to be patient.”

Credence was too close to slumber to understand what she meant, drifting heedlessly off on a stirring breeze, fluttering among the stars. 

 

The dreams started again immediately.

The night was chilly and dark, but Credence was warm, his mind traveling through a whirl of mist that felt like soft fabric against his skin. 

Was somebody still speaking?

_Little star, my darling._

He was held safe, cradled in a pair of strong arms. There was a voice, his mother’s voice, distantly familiar. She was out of breath, her eyes fierce and worried. Her dark hair tickled his face, shadows haunting her smile, fear clinging to the hollows of her cheeks. There was a smear of red at her temple, and she seemed to be running. 

_He will not find you, I’m going to make sure of it. This spell will protect you, even if it is the last thing I do. Don’t be afraid._

There was a blur of motion, color and vague memory and forgotten details. She was carrying him as she fled, the trees waving above them, low dark shapes rustling behind them through the forest, unnaturally bright eyes and heavy padding footsteps. Credence clung to her neck, small fingers tangled in the fabric of her dress.

The stars were singing still, sad and worried, as she dashed through the trees, limping, a dark wet stain spreading on her dress. They were headed downhill toward the city, her hair streaming behind her.

_In his greed, he will never see how special you are, my love, my magic will make it so. Not even if you stand before him, he’ll sense nothing of your power, nothing for him to steal._

She stumbled, crying out in pain, and the stars whispered in dismay. They were watching, all of them, as she pressed onward, fleeing in the dark as the trees groaned and made a path for her feet.

_I would give anything not to leave you to face this world alone._

There were tears on Credence’s face, though he hadn’t noticed them falling from his eyes. 

_My darling, I am so sorry. But you will be safest this way._

Credence wanted to call out to her, to beg her to stay. The dream was fading, his mother’s worried face a dark smear in a forest of shadows. 

_I want you always to remember how much I love you, how much I-_

“Credence?”

There was a gentle hand squeezing his shoulder, then a low whine. 

Credence flinched, blinking rapidly as he tried to sit up, only to find he was half-pinned under Grimm’s furry bulk. The couch cushion was damp under his cheek, his skin salty and tight with dried tears. 

The wolf whined again, licking his face.

“What…?” Credence breathed. He wanted to go back, hear her voice again. She hadn’t been finished talking.

“Sweetheart, you were crying in your sleep, and Grimm and I wanted to make sure you were alright,” said Newt softly. He was bent over the couch, the pale light of dawn running its rosy fingers through his copper hair. “Was it a nightmare? Ariel said you had an upsetting one earlier–”

“No, I’m fine.” Credence took in a deep, shaky breath, feeling oddly uncharitable despite Newt’s good intentions. The dream was shrinking, sliding away from his grasp, and he would’ve liked to hear the end of it. He disentangled himself from Grimm and the couch, rising somewhat stiffly to his feet. “I’m… just fine. Excuse me, I need to go get dressed.”

Leaving the wolf and the wizard staring after him, Credence fled up the stairs, barely catching Ariel’s voice in the wake of his thumping footsteps. “Ooh,” she said. “Whoops. Not one you should’ve interrupted, boys.”

Credence bit his lip over a fresh wave of grief, striding into his room and shutting the door with a snap. There had been sorrow in his dream, yes, but also love, something so deeply and desperately precious that he would’ve gladly cried longer just to feel it for one more moment. Credence pulled open his dresser and tugged off his nightshirt, folding it up carefully with fingers that shook slightly. 

His mother had loved him. His visions had all certainly been clear about that. She had loved him so fiercely that he could still feel the ghost of her arms around him. Ma had always said she was a fallen woman, a shameful unwed beggar who had staggered into the church one night seeking shelter and then died before morning, leaving Credence behind like an unwanted sack of flour. Unwanted, unloved, abandoned. And he had believed her.

But that had only been Ma's skewed, hateful version of the truth. His real mother hadn't been shameful, she'd been fierce and determined and powerful, and had loved him to her last breath. And she had tried her best to protect him, to weave a spell to save him from the monster that had… that had killed his father.

The pieces of the story were all there, sad and unmistakable. 

Credence dragged a comb through his hair and washed his face, staring at his reflection in the mirror, at the dark brown of his eyes in the clear surface of the looking-glass. Those were her eyes. And the hair… He tugged the silver strands as they pooled thickly in his fingers, taking a deep breath. The silver hair wasn’t a remnant of the curse, after all. It must have something to do with his magic, a legacy from his father. 

Credence straightened, pulling on a fresh shirt. 

He had a piece of both of them, then. 

 

When he re-emerged into the kitchen several minutes later, Credence had managed to compose himself once more. The tears were scrubbed from his cheeks, and his hands didn’t shake has he began making breakfast.

“Er, Credence…” Newt said. Credence looked up from the frying pan he was pulling out of the cabinet to see that the wizard was hovering awkwardly by the fire, looking crestfallen, Grimm pressed against his legs. Newt’s fingers were tangled in the wolf’s fur, petting the animal soothingly. “I’m so sorry if we overstepped.”

Grimm looked positively mournful, his ears drooping.

But Credence was done with his petty strop, suddenly feeling very strange and solemn, shivery and grateful. “It’s alright,” he said, lighting the stove with a flick of his fingers. “You were just trying to help, and I appreciate it. Truly.”

And that was the heart of the matter, wasn’t it? They had intervened because they thought he was suffering and they cared too much to let it continue. Newt and Grimm _cared_ about him, and so did Mira, and Tina and Jacob and Queenie, and probably even Ariel. And so had his mother and father. He was never unwanted at all.

Credence cracked several eggs into the frying pan and nodded to the plates to go set themselves on the table, reaching out absently for the spatula as it soared out of the kitchen drawer and into his hand. When he turned around again, Grimm was sitting hopefully at his feet, ears perked, his dark eyes fixed on Credence.

“You hungry?” he asked the wolf softly, setting a plate of cold chicken on the floor. But Grimm ignored the food to nose at Credence’s cheek, huffing warm breath in his ear. “Oh,” Credence murmured, kneeling so that he could wrap his arms tight around the beast in a hug. Grimm licked his cheek. “Oh, it’s alright,” he whispered. “Don’t worry, I’m fine. We’re fine.”

When he looked up, Newt was watching them with eyes that were oddly bright, a wistful vulnerability to the set of his mouth, the twist of his fingers. “I, er…” The wizard cleared his throat, shuffling closer. “Can I…” He made a vague flailing gesture with his hands, cheeks pink.

Credence blinked. “Oh!” he breathed. “Of… of course…”

Almost before he could finish, Newt was joining in the hug, his forehead against Credence’s temple and his strong arms wrapped around the two of them, fingers stroking Grimm’s fur. Credence settled a tentative hand on the wizard’s back. For a long moment, they stayed that way, all pressed together, Grimm alternately snuffling both of them, and when the wolf’s tail started thumping loudly against the floor Credence couldn’t stop himself from smiling. 

And then they heard a voice behind them, and he smiled wider. 

“Oh, okay, are we all hugging today?” 

Mira had evidently come down the stairs while they weren’t paying attention, carrying her journal under her arm, Pickett nestled in her hair. Eagerly, she set down her notebook and skipped over to plaster herself against Newt’s back, small arm wrapping around Credence’s shoulders.

“Good morning,” she chirped, petting Grimm behind the ears. She settled herself comfortably, pointy little chin poking Newt in the collarbone. Credence grinned.

“Morning, darling,” Newt said fondly.

Mira smiled serenely, rubbing her cheek against his wild curls. “Is this going to be a short hug or a long hug?” she asked innocently. “Because either one is fine, but I was hoping for some breakfast.”

At this, Newt let out a bright laugh, reaching behind him to scoop her up onto his back like a baby monkey.

“Oh really,” he said, straightening up, while she giggled and clung to his shoulders. “You’re hungry, are you? But we just fed you yesterday, you insatiable little gremlin!”

Credence grinned helplessly, watching him twirl her around, a warm ache of happiness in his chest.

 

They ended up making breakfast all together. Mira buttered the toast while Newt made the scrambled eggs and Credence fried up crispy potatoes and sausages and sliced up the summer’s last strawberries. 

“Uncle Newt,” Mira said, when they were nearly finished eating. “I almost forgot. Mom wrote me last night. She says she needs to talk to you this morning in the floo.” 

Mira was a smart girl. Credence could tell by the careful tone of her voice that she was worried about what sort of news would lead to that sort of request. Was it something related to the war? But she clearly knew not to pry, her wide eyes watching her godfather as he smiled reassuringly at her.

“Well, then I will clear my schedule. A surprise call from Queenie! Anyone would be lucky to get one of those.” But his smile was a bit tight around the edges, and the remainder of breakfast was rather quiet and distracted.

After the dishes had been washed, Credence and Mira left Newt by the fire and made their customary visit to Frank’s habitat to take turns riding the broom, though even the feeling of soaring up over the grass and through the sun-warmed air couldn’t shake the heavy feeling of curiosity dragging against Credence’s mind. What were they talking about downstairs, in the fire? The end of summer was not far off, just a week left to go until they planned to visit the palace, and the rumblings of war had not stopped. But nor had the fragile peace shattered. The whole kingdom seemed to be stuck in a holding pattern of tense waiting.

Credence kept circling over the conjured trees while Mira headed over to the graphorns to feed and brush them, one of the small jobs she’d been able to convince Newt she was ready to do all on her own. He soared higher, lost in thought, while Grimm bounded along below him.

Was it good news or bad?

They found out soon enough, when Newt came striding down the path between the woodland habitats, his wand in his hand.

“I’m afraid our plans have been accelerated a bit,” he said shortly, summoning his pocket watch from the niffler’s den with a firm flick of his wrist. “Tina’s worried that things are escalating, and Queenie thinks we may not have the luxury of waiting another week.” 

Credence landed lightly on the ground, hopping off the broom with a muffled thump. Newt sought his gaze, worried. Mira, book under her arm, looked between the two of them, her eyes wide.

“Queenie suggested we go to the palace today, and she’ll go too, just as a precaution,” Newt went on. “Things are so tense. I’m not setting out to cause any trouble, but past experience has taught me that I have a tendency to cause it anyway.” He smiled, nervous and rueful. “I can’t say I’m itching to go, but if my argument can sway Seraphina even a little toward an alternative to war, I would be a fool not to at least try.” His face was grave. “And if the fighting is really going to happen, I’d like to get a sense for the scope of it first.” 

He was twisting his wand between his fingers, eyes cloudy with apprehension. “I need to know how far she’s prepared to go, where the edges of the battle will reach, where the danger will be.” He was staring at Credence, looking a bit lost. “Just, it occurs to me that I… I’ve got quite a lot to lose, if I don’t make sure I know what’s going on, don’t make sure the kingdom stays safe. I have… a lot I want to protect. If it comes down to it, she may make a soldier of me yet.”

Credence leaned the broom against a tree and strode over to Newt. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll get my coat.”

Newt’s brow furrowed, reaching out to grip his arm. “Are you sure, darling? It’s not too late to change your mind, you know. You don’t actually have to come with me.” 

“Yes, I do,” Credence countered softly, carefully taking the wizard’s hand. “I’ve got a lot I want to protect, too,” he said pointedly, rubbing his thumb against Newt’s skin.

For a moment, the wizard stared at him helplessly, eyes bright. Then, he squeezed Credence’s fingers in return.

“Well then,” he said, with a ghost of a smile. “Your company would be most welcome, love. Let’s go see the Queen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaah!! More hugs :D
> 
> So, I think of this chapter like the training montage scene in a movie, where the hero learns all they need to know and then is conveniently prepared to go kick ass in the final battle. I crammed a lot in this chapter, and even though I edited it a bunch I still feel like it's a bit messy - probably because there's so much going on with the dreams and the magic and everything. But hopefully it wasn't too confusing.
> 
> Also, omg, I didn't set out to make Credence's parents backstory so tragic, it just kind of happened. (Meep) It helps the plot (eep) and kind of echoes Stardust in a genderbent way... though it ends less happily than Stardust. Sorryyyyy! I got sad writing this, so I'm guessing it might have punched you in the feels too. Sorrysorrysorry. 
> 
> But at least we got a nice group hug in the mix ♥


	9. Changing Faces

There were two strangers on the edge of the town square: a man with a blue coat and a beautiful woman in pale pink. The vendors at the market didn’t recognize either one, but nobody took much notice, their eyes sliding right past the couple as they made their way toward the palace steps. They were dressed richly, but not in a showy way; a pair of foreign merchants, perhaps, with holdings downriver. Or young newlyweds on their honeymoon, traveling by steam ship to visit the wonders of the city.

“Remind me again why we’re dressed like this,” Credence whispered, his face itching. There was a thick new growth of beard on his cheeks under a nose that felt strange and unfamiliar, its shape transformed with a flick of Newt’s wand. “Do you really get arrested that often?” Goodness, it felt bizarre to speak around the facial hair. 

“It’s just been a couple times,” Newt said, blinking eyelashes dark with mascara, “but the soldiers are all trained to remember a face. If I’m to visit Her Majesty, I’d like to do it on my own terms, not dragged in front of her like a criminal.” He slid his arm through the loop of Credence’s elbow, leaning closer. “Plus, I don’t want any of them getting a good look at you.” His breath was warm on Credence’s ear. “And you’ve got to admit this is more fun.” 

Newt grinned at him under the sweeping brim of his hat, curling his fingers possessively around Credence’s arm. 

“Don’t we stand out as strangers, though?” Credence said, a little breathless. “Are you sure nobody will approach us?” This was all feeling a little strange. It was a shock to be back in the heart of the city, passing right by the familiar row of booths selling late summer produce, walking on the same cobblestones he’d trod so many times in his previous life. Ma didn’t appear to be out preaching this afternoon, dashing his hope of seeing his sisters across the square. Perhaps, after their errand, they could walk up past the church - stroll by as casually as possible, try not to arouse any suspicion.

“Quite sure,” Newt murmured, adjusting the angle of his hat. “I’ve cloaked us in a notice-me-not spell. We are visible, but we aren’t memorable. Just two foreigners here to see the sights.” He leaned nearer again. “But _they_ can see us.”

Newt glanced meaningfully toward the guards stationed on the edges of the square, their uniforms pristine and their shoulders tense.

“They’re all… magic?” Credence asked.

“Some of them, yes,” Newt replied. “And for the rest, the Queen will have enchanted their helmets to resist a fair bit of perceptual misdirection.” He tightened his grip on Credence’s arm as they walked past a pair of soldiers talking with a well-dressed man with dark hair and a long coat. “And then, of course, we’ve got to watch out for those chaps over there in the shadows,” he added under his breath, “But let’s not think about them. They’re looking for me as I usually appear, got no reason to follow us unless we start to panic. Keep smiling, darling, we’re having a lovely time on holiday, aren’t we?”

“Yes, of course, dear,” Credence replied, blinking over past the edge of the square where the sunlight ended and an alleyway stood bathed in shadow, two half-visible dark hooded shapes watching the passing crowd of people, no discernible faces under the cowls of their black cloaks. Credence swallowed and tried to suppress his disquiet, focusing on Newt instead. Newt’s lips looked very soft up close, pink to match his dress. “Are you sure this disguise is going to work on the Queen too?” Credence whispered. 

They were passing the fountain now, a group of children playing some sort of hopping game around the other side.

“Actually, I am quite certain it won’t. But I’m not worried about her,” Newt murmured, leading them right past the alley where the two shadow-men stood staring. “She’s used to my eccentricities by now, and my last disguise seemed to amuse her quite a bit. Seraphina and I have a history, you see. I show up, usually chasing some out-of-place magical creature that’s gotten confused and wandered into the city to cause a scene, she shouts at me for making a mess in front of the non-magical citizens, and then I convince her to let me take the beast away to rehabilitate it for release into the wild. And we part as friendly enemies.”

“And do you get arrested every time?” Credence asked, trying very hard not to jostle Newt’s hand. Having it resting there in the bend of his elbow was rather pleasantly distracting.

“At first, yes,” Newt replied easily. “It’s how I met Tina actually, did I already tell you? My first time in the city, and I’d just found a baby niffler orphaned in the woods on my way here. She squirmed out of my coat pocket in the middle of the market, and, er… you can guess how that went.”

Indeed Credence could. Plenty of shiny things for a sparkle-mad creature to get at, with all these people watching. It sounded like a disaster.

“How did you explain something like that?” Credence asked. “Didn’t anybody get a good look at the niffler? She’s not exactly a common animal around here, at least not where normal people are concerned.” Wouldn’t a scene like that have been gossiped about? 

Newt looked sheepish. “Er. Yes, precisely. Hence why Tina arrested me. Not good to go around exposing the existence of magical creatures to the general public. Luckily, she and Commander Graves handled things admirably, fixed the damage, spread the story that it was a rabid muskrat someone was keeping as an exotic pet. And if anybody thought otherwise, they modified their memory.”

Credence gaped. “Modified their memory?” Gosh, it was unsettling to imagine magic that could erase someone’s thoughts, their recollections. Furthermore, “A _muskrat?_ Why would anyone keep a pet muskrat?”

“Yes, it was a little far-fetched, as cover stories go. But it seemed to work. New gossip was already spreading by the next week about Her Majesty’s love life, and everybody forgot all about the strange animal in the marketplace,” the wizard said. He winced. “The Queen’s disapproval lasted a great deal longer, though. She wasn’t at all pleased with me, I can tell you that. Not the best first impression.”

“Huh,” Credence said faintly. No, strolling through the city with a strange wild-looking beast was not a good idea, as much as he wished things were different. They’d had to leave Grimm back at the castle, where he would be safest, even though it made Credence’s heart ache to be apart from him. But swanning into the palace with a _wolf_ in tow was a good way to rile up the entire city and put the Queen in a terrible mood.

Newt sighed. “Ever since then, Seraphina has associated my arrival with trouble, which I suppose is not too far off the mark if you disregard the fact that I am always here to _help,_ ” he huffed. “For a while she resorted to having me preemptively arrested on sight, hence the disguises. Not too enjoyable to be dragged up all those steps, even if I was usually let go immediately after. Tina did her best to help me avoid any charges.”

They were almost to the steps now, and Credence felt a prickle on the back of his neck. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the well-dressed man standing with the soldiers turn to look right at them, the wind ruffling the pristine white collar of his coat, the smooth dark shine of his hair.

“Lately, though, I’ve had less trouble than usual avoiding arrest. Perhaps Her Majesty has relaxed her orders for my capture,” Newt went on softly. “It made me reckless. Got a bit too comfortable on my last visit, swanning about in broad daylight with no disguise.”

That man was definitely watching them, his dark eyes fixed on Newt and Credence. Credence tried very hard to pretend he hadn’t noticed.

“Best not to forget,” Newt breathed, “that it’s not just the palace guards I’m hiding from.” Credence felt a shiver work its way down his spine. “Darling, I suppose you’ve noticed we’re being observed.” Newt’s voice was a whisper in his ear.

Credence turned and gave him a minuscule nod, trying not to stiffen. The man had detached from the soldiers to stroll casually toward them, and Newt and Credence began to climb the steps, pretending not to notice.

“Don’t worry,” Newt said very quietly. “He may be a rather stubborn git when it comes to the law, but he doesn’t mean us any harm. That’s Commander Graves, the President’s right hand man. He’s not a bad sort, just very intent on upholding the rules. Don’t look at him, love. Probably just wants to make sure we don’t seem like radical protestors or the type to go bursting into the throne room uninvited.”

“Um…” mumbled Credence, watching out of the corner of his eye as the man drifted closer. The two of them were climbing the stairs at a good pace, but Commander Graves still could catch up to them if he really tried. Credence swallowed, feeling strangely unsettled by the man’s impassive stare. “So… what do we…?”

“Ah!” Newt said brightly. “Yes. Here’s where the disguises come in handy. I think perhaps we’d better make sure to act like simple tourists, encourage him to lose interest. I hope you don’t mind a bit of a charade, darling, just follow my lead.”

And then his voice became higher and softer, sounding exactly like the young lady he was dressed as. “Oh my,” he said, his voice joyful and breathless. “I’ve never seen so many stairs! And such an incredible view.” Newt turned to look out over the city, the wind tossing his strawberry-blonde curls. Credence still wasn’t sure how he’d managed to grow such long hair in the space of an afternoon, or where he’d found the flowing silk dress he was wearing, but they suited him awfully well. His features were still the same, delicately made up with a hint of rouge and eyeshadow, his lips coated flawlessly in lipstick.

“Yes,” Credence replied awkwardly, his eyes still a bit stuck on Newt. “It’s beautiful.”

The wizard beamed at him, green eyes bright under his mascara. “Oh, sweetheart, you are such a charmer. I knew there was a reason I agreed to marry you, aside from all the money,” he said playfully. “And your impressive set of hunting trophies.”

Credence couldn’t quite muffle his snort of laughter at that. Newt hated the idea of hunting for spectacle, and he didn’t care one whit about money. “And here I thought it was the beard that won you over,” he joked.

Newt threw his head back and laughed, winding his arms around Credence’s neck. His throat was very pale and smooth, and his eyes sparkled. Credence took his cue to grab hold of the wizard’s narrow waist, his heart pounding hard in his chest. 

“I’m liking the beard more and more, but only because you’re the one under it,” Newt murmured, and Credence was no longer sure if he was speaking his true mind or staying in character. One of Newt’s hands was tangled in Credence’s hair, which they had temporarily dyed chestnut brown with tree bark powder, and their faces were so close together that Credence could count the freckles on his nose. 

“Really? You think I should keep it?” Credence asked.

Newt’s thumb stroked his cheek, running through the thick bristles of his brown beard. “Hmm. Maybe, if you like it. But I do miss being able to see your face better,” he whispered. “Love, is he still watching?”

The Commander had paused at the base of the steps, a stony expression on his handsome face. “Yes,” Credence muttered, tightening his grip on Newt’s waist and pressing his lips against the wizard’s ear. Newt giggled. “He looks… irritated. Or maybe bored.”

“Well, good,” the wizard said under his breath. “Let’s make sure we seem far too tedious for him to bother with. Is a bit of snogging okay with you?”

“Sure,” Credence replied automatically, not entirely sure what that word meant.

“Alright,” Newt breathed, grinning brightly. His eyes sparkled, and then his pink lips were coming closer, very very close actually, and-

“Mm!”

They were kissing. Credence was being kissed. His brain didn’t quite know what to do with that. There were lips… on his lips. Nice ones, too, very soft, and Newt was winding his arms around Credence’s neck, their bodies pressed tightly together.

It was over suddenly, just at the point when Credence was realizing how much he liked it.

“Darling,” Newt sighed, and Credence stared at his mouth. “Oh, I hope we get to see the Queen’s garden,” he said, loud enough for his voice to carry. “It’s supposed to be very romantic. Will you kiss me again when we get up there?”

Credence felt like the luckiest man in the world, which he supposed was not too far off from his character. “Of… of course. Anything you want.”

Newt giggled, a light tinkling sound. “You charmer,” he declared. “Alright, but only if you can catch me. Race you to the top!”

And then he was off, in a swirl of pink skirts, somehow keeping his balance in his delicate low-heeled ladies’ boots. Credence blinked in surprise for a split-second and then raced after him, his thighs burning as they climbed higher, both of them panting before long. Newt laughed breathlessly as he allowed Credence to get close enough to grab him around the waist and boldly press him against the ornate railing at the side of the steps, his green eyes flicking over Credence’s shoulder.

“What’s he doing now?” Credence whispered, pressing his lips against Newt’s cheek. “Still following?”

Newt turned his head to brush their lips together. “No, just glancing up every so often,” he murmured. “I think he’s losing interest. Or perhaps we are offending his prudish sensibilities. Not sure it matters, as long as we’re beneath his notice. I’m not making you uncomfortable, am I? I know I sprung that kiss on you. I… _mmh!_ ”

But Credence was far from uncomfortable. And he decided to show Newt so by kissing him again, full on the mouth, one hand cupping his cheek and the other wrapped tight around his waist.

“Oh,” Newt breathed, when Credence pulled back, lips tingling.

“Was… was that okay?” Credence asked, feeling terribly clumsy. He had never kissed anyone before, and he was worried he had pressed too hard out of nerves. He tried again, softer, just a brief silky brush of lips.

“Darling, that was just fine,” Newt whispered. “Lovely, even.” He stroked Credence’s cheek, nudging their noses together affectionately. “Why don’t we see if we can get to the top of the stairs now, I think he’s stopped looking.”

Forcing themselves to stroll casually, they climbed the last stretch of the grand staircase up to the courtyard at the top, Newt’s arm hooked through Credence’s elbow. When they turned around, they were faced with an incredible view of the city and the mountains, the river winding its way through the valley. Credence had always longed to see the panorama from up here.

“Magnificent, isn’t it?” the wizard asked. “Though I still prefer the view from our castle, what do you think?”

Credence felt like he could float. _Our_ castle. Newt’s smile was even more beautiful than any landscape, and Credence couldn’t help but lean closer and kiss him again. This one was unhurried, slow and lingering and spine-tinglingly pleasant, one of Newt’s hands stroking across his shoulder, clutching the collar of his coat.

“Mmm,” the wizard sighed, pressing their foreheads together. “We definitely need to do more of this later, love. When we get our errand over with.” He pressed another soft peck to the corner of Credence’s mouth. “As much as I hate to say it, we should stop. We can’t have you shining here, sweetheart.”

“Oh,” Credence replied breathlessly, looking down. There was a faint glimmer to his skin, the beginnings of another glowing burst of starlight. 

“Normally I’d be overjoyed to see you light up, darling,” Newt said, cupping his face. “But we need to be discreet now. We’ll have to save that for when we get back home.” He pressed a tiny kiss to Credence’s nose.

Credence nodded, grinning helplessly. “Alright,” he murmured. “I’ll try and be patient.” He closed his eyes for a moment, imagining the glow disappearing, like a lantern snuffed out and set carefully aside to be used later. When he looked down again, his skin was normal.

Newt beamed at him, sliding his arm back through Credence’s elbow and turning them away from the view. 

“Shall we?” he asked. 

Ahead of them was a terraced garden with lush green hedges, several of which were pruned into the shapes of animals. As they walked past, Credence could’ve sworn he saw one of the eagle-bushes stretch its neck and ruffle its wings, though when he turned his head to look at it the plant was stationary again. They followed the tiled walkway among the low flower beds, past a courtyard with a fountain, until at last they emerged in front of the midnight blue doors, grand and intimidating, gleaming in the late summer sun. This was it, they were really doing this. 

There were two guards stationed at each side of the wide doors, their expressions grim, but when Newt pulled out his official summons they stepped aside and waved him through the doors.

“They didn’t look at your name?” Credence whispered, once the doors had shut behind them. “Check it was you?” 

“Didn’t have to,” Newt explained. “A scroll like that would disintegrate in the hands of anybody other than its intended recipient. Fortunately for us, that’s good enough to allow us inside.” He turned to look impishly at Credence. “And they probably think you’re my beaux. A young lady out on the town needs an escort, of course,” he added cheekily, fluttering his eyelashes. “Sometimes people’s old-fashioned assumptions wind up being useful.”

“Huh,” Credence murmured.

The palace was just as grand as he had always pictured, with lush carpet lining the hallway and crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. They were striding down a passage toward some sort of antechamber, their muffled footsteps interrupting the solemn quiet of the building. It was strange to imagine Ma walking along this same handsome hall in her plain black dress, clutching a handful of pamphlets, painfully out of place. Newt led them confidently past the soldier posted at the antechamber, turning to the left without hesitation. 

“You know where we’re going?” Credence asked softly. They were in another long hall that twisted around several corners before straightening out again.

“Oh yes,” Newt smiled. “Not much further, love.” He patted Credence’s arm. “And, by the way, er… best let me do the talking, darling. And don’t let anyone see you doing magic while we’re here, that’s very important. I don’t want anyone asking questions about where you came from.”

Credence nodded, wide-eyed. There were faint voices coming from up ahead, and the glow of sunlight. And then he had to pause and gasp, staring upward. They had emerged from the dim carpeted hall into an airy space full of bright light, the ceiling and the far wall made entirely of interlocking panes of glass. The room was full of plants, potted trees and sprawling ferns, and at the far end of the marble floor was a rich path of midnight blue carpet leading to a stately bronze throne. 

Oh, gosh. There she was. Despite all the incredible things he’d seen since running away from the city, Credence couldn’t help but feel a little dazzled by the sight of Her Majesty, haloed by the sun, regal and beautiful. She was just as lovely as her statue in the market square, her hair pure white-blonde and the deep brown of her skin set aglow by the warm light pouring through the ceiling. She had on a robe and headdress of gold, and her expression was calm and stoic, despite the fact that she also looked incredibly tired. Weary shadows slept under her dark eyes, and lines of exhaustion had etched themselves into her face.

She was listening carefully to a man standing next to the throne, a sheaf of papers in his hands.

“…wished to ask your permission to distribute the artillery to our troops on the border. The team is still working on streamlining the effects, but the prototype showed a great deal of promise in the hands of both normal and… _gifted_ soldiers, and achieved promising offensive results in every simulation,” the man was saying quietly, bowing his dark head.

The Queen considered for a moment. “Putting a new, uncalibrated weapon into play before we’re completely sure what the results will be is not a step I’m desperate enough to make yet,” she replied slowly, “not while our fragile armistice still holds.” She shook her head. “Our troops are restless, holding their position for so long without striking. The report states that the weapon varies in the scope of its blast zones? If someone gets trigger happy out there before we’ve safety-checked this thing, we could destroy the last shreds of goodwill holding this peace together and some of our own troops along with it.”

Newt and Credence hesitantly made their way closer to the throne, watching as the man rolled up his papers and nodded deferentially.

“As you wish, ma’am, I will inform the development team to continue improving the missiles’ accuracy. We will not distribute the prototypes until you decide they are ready.” 

“Thank you, Abernathy,” the Queen said, nodding.

The man, Abernathy, turned crisply on his heel as if to leave, immediately catching sight of Newt and Credence. “How did you get in here?” he asked pompously, his gaze flicking over the two of them. His attention caught on Newt, standing there prettily in his pink dress, all soft blonde curls and wide green eyes. Abruptly, the man’s demeanor made a change into one of keen interest, his hand absently straightening his uniform as he cleared his throat. “Ahem. Excuse me. I’m afraid this afternoon is reserved for private meetings with Her Majesty by summons only,” he said in a much smoother tone, his gaze lingering on Newt’s face. “Perhaps you'd allow me to escort you to the garden instead. The palace is not open to tourists today.”

Newt ducked his head, letting go of Credence’s arm to pull the small scroll out once more, the Queen’s bronze eagle gleaming in wax upon the seal. “And I appreciate your diligence in checking, sir,” he said politely, “but, believe me, I am only here at Her Majesty’s rather vehement request. I do hope I am not interrupting.”

The man’s stare lingered, dark and fascinated, as Newt stepped forward in a swirl of silk, making his way up to the base of the raised dais. “Good afternoon, ma’am,” Newt said carefully, giving a short bow.

Credence bowed awkwardly from where he stood planted several strides behind Newt, watching as the wizard straightened again, his eyes flicking up toward the Queen, fingers fidgeting with the ribbon around his summons.

“I’ve come to speak with you in frank honesty, if you’ll let me,” Newt began. If he was nervous, he was doing a good job hiding it. “I am not sure you’ll agree with everything I have to say, but I promise our goals are the same. We both want peace and safety for this kingdom.”

Abernathy was wearing a peculiar expression on his face, a sort of avid amazement mixed with annoyance. “Mistress, you do not follow protocol,” he said. “As Her Majesty’s subject, you ought to speak with deference at all times, and address her as ‘Your Majesty.’ A salutation of ma’am is appropriate only after prolonged acquaintance.”

“Ah,” Newt said, shifting on the balls of his feet. “Yes, er… again, your thoroughness does you credit, sir. But I’m afraid protocol does not apply.” He looked up at the Queen again, who was watching him with narrowed eyes. “I am not Her Majesty’s subject, though our acquaintance has certainly been prolonged. A drawn-out series of appointments, if you will, or an ever-growing list of, erm… heated discussions.” He shrugged, somewhat awkwardly.

The Queen, in fact, now looked faintly exasperated. “Oh, is that what you’d call them?” she asked dryly. “And are you here to continue that pattern? Do I need to send for a throat lozenge?”

“Er… no,” Newt said carefully. “Though perhaps a cup of tea wouldn’t go amiss.”

The Queen snorted, a most unladylike sound, before rising from her throne. “Merlin’s beard, Scamander, you never keep things simple, do you?” she asked, stepping smartly down off the dais to stand in front of Newt. “I presume you’ve deigned to visit me in this charming getup for some reason other than to catch the amorous attention of my private secretary?”

“What? No, of course I’m not here to...” Newt said, startled. He glanced in confusion at Abernathy's eager expression, then immediately looked away again, a pink flush appearing on his neck. He straightened the collar of his dress, embarrassed. “I’m here on business. Not looking to catch attention of any sort,” he said firmly.

Credence couldn’t help but notice with some smugness that the dark-haired man looked disappointed at that.

“Good,” the Queen said. “Abernathy, you may go,” she said pointedly. “Inform the weapons team not to distribute those dangerous prototypes yet. Our army is a civilized one, not a reckless horde of berserkers.”

“Yes, ma’am.” With one last stiff bow, the secretary turned away, glancing over his shoulder at Newt one last time. 

When the door had shut behind him, Her Majesty gave Newt a long, searching look. “I’ve been waiting to hear from you all summer, you know. We have desperate need of your help.”

“Yes, so I gathered from all the owls you sent me,” Newt replied quietly. “But you must understand, I want _no part_ of this. Not the fighting, or the politics. It’s simply not what I do.”

Her Majesty rubbed a hand over her face. “I see. So you are content to live in my kingdom, but you can’t be bothered to muster one ounce of your considerable skill to help defend it, is that it?”

“That’s not what I said,” Newt answered quickly. He was twisting one of his hands in the silk of his skirt, the set of his mouth tight and unhappy. “I will help mediate, if there’s peace to be had. Can you tell me honestly that you’ve tried all routes for cooperation, left no stone unturned? Is there any area on which you’ve yet to compromise? What are Myria’s demands?”

The Queen looked irritated, frowning at him. “You think I haven’t been through all those questions myself? Their demands make no _sense_ , Scamander, first they want our resources, then they say they won’t be satisfied with anything we have to offer. For months now I have been negotiating, trying to keep this armistice, offering Myria priceless favors just to draw this fragile peace out a little further. Believe me, I’ve compromised in every direction possible. I’m not doing any of this on a whim, you know,” she said, frustrated.

“No,” Newt replied hastily, “I’m sure you aren’t. Not a whim. But perhaps a calculated reach for power.” The Queen’s eyebrows shot up dangerously, but the wizard pressed on. “Not from you, of course, but from your council or their generals. _Someone_ has gotten ambitious and made this war seem like a good idea, like the only path. But surely it isn’t,” he said. “It can’t be. All of this makes no sense. Myria is our most peaceful neighbor, what quarrel do they have with us all of a sudden?”

The Queen’s cheeks were slightly flushed, her mouth tight with displeasure. “Logic doesn’t always keep company with hatred and greed, unfortunately. It may not make any sense, but this is the reality of it, whether you like it or not. Myria has inexplicably gone from peaceful ally to aggressive threat, and nothing I do has made them back off. The fact we don’t understand their motives doesn’t make it any easier, as you so helpfully pointed out,” she said, voice bone-dry. “We’ve offered them land, we’ve offered them trade, and nothing seems to be working.”

Newt, stymied, tried to rally. “But… surely they’ve got no more desire for war than we do? Both kingdoms stand to lose so much! Maybe there’s something at work here, some conspiracy you haven’t considered. I just… I have a hunch, a bad feeling about all of this. You should look into it, do a thorough investigation…”

“Mr. Scamander,” Her Majesty said impatiently, expression incredulous. “Myria just rejected our latest attempt at making a treaty, our scouts have reported growing numbers of foreign soldiers camped across the border, I am at my wit’s _end_ , I have hardly slept in months, I’ve got to keep the soldiers battle-ready in case we need them at any moment and I have an entire kingdom to keep from crumbling. I _don’t have time_ to do a thorough investigation based only on your _hunch_.”

Newt looked cowed but determined, his eyes blazing still. “But–”

“I trust every single one of my councilors,” the Queen interrupted firmly, her eyes exhausted. “There is no corruption in my court, I’m certain of it; I employ constant vigilance, I would’ve noticed if someone was trying to manipulate me." She looked so tired, however, that Credence couldn’t help but wonder how it was possible for her to be watchful all the time. “And _you_ , by your own admission, are not a politician, nor a soldier. You really think that makes you qualified to come in here and start spouting conspiracy theories? You’re starting to remind me of that witch-hating woman from the church,” she scoffed.

Credence felt an unpleasant jolt of shock.

“Now,” the Queen went on, stepping back up onto the dais to settle on her throne, her eyes hard as she looked down at him. “If you are finished taking up my afternoon with your unhelpful suggestions, I have a very simple question for you. Will you fight for me in this war or not?”

Newt stood there silently for a moment, his eyes worried. “Not on the battlefield, no,” he said softly. 

The Queen frowned. “Why not? The battlefield is where I need you,” she said, words sharp. “I need as many able witches and wizards as possible to lead the non-magical soldiers.”

But Newt was shaking his head. “I don’t believe in taking lives,” he breathed. “Only saving them.” 

Her Majesty set her jaw. “I see. An admirable stance, but ultimately a foolish one,” she said bitterly. “When the danger is great enough, high moral ground will only get you killed, Scamander. We all must make hard choices in order to protect what we love.”

The two of them stared at each other stubbornly, while Credence waited nervously at the far end of the carpet. Would Her Majesty accept that answer, let them go?

“Well,” she said, her voice tight. “I suppose you had better go back to your hillside, then, rejoin your wild beasts. That’s the luxury of freedom, isn’t it?” she asked. “You get to leave the problems of the rest of the world behind. Freedom from responsibility, freedom from guilt…”

“Seraphina,” Newt said quietly, looking uncomfortable. “I’m not turning my back on you completely. I’ll take refugees, if it comes to it, I’ll… maybe I will fly out and scout, try and misdirect any missiles they fire at the city, help in my own way.”

“But you won’t help in the ways I ask you to,” she said, face drawn with displeasure. “You aren’t willing to follow my orders, you’d rather be your own agent. Don’t you see? That makes you a variable I can’t rely on, an unpredictable piece in a deadly game where one wrong move could cost us dearly. We all need to fight as one, be obedient and coordinated, or else we’ll–”

_Slam._

Abernathy was back, flushed and out of breath, leaning against the door he had just thrown open and clutching a stitch in his side.

They all turned to stare at him, the Queen rising from her throne. “What is it?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”

Before he could answer, however, another man stepped through the open doorway. It was the man in the long dark coat from the square, flanked by three more soldiers, his handsome face set in a stern frown.

“Graves,” the Queen said sharply. “What’s happened?”

In contrast to Abernathy, the Commander was completely unruffled. His posture was stiff, his spine almost unnaturally straight, one hand clenched around his wand. “Ma’am,” he said, his voice flat and even. “There’s been an incident, just now, in the market. Destruction of a great deal of property, possibly caused by a magical beast.”

“In broad daylight? Merlin! Are you containing the situation?” Her Majesty asked immediately.

“Of course,” Graves said. “I’ve got Fontaine spreading the story that it was a fluke gas explosion, although the gossips are already telling wild tales about witches and devils. Nobody got a good look at whatever this thing was; it blasted through the market too fast for anyone to see it.”

Credence felt a clench of dread. Was Ma out there now, sowing seeds of suspicion? And Chastity and Modesty?

“Any casualties?” the Queen asked, her voice urgent.

“None,” the Commander replied. 

Beside him, Abernathy seemed to have caught his breath again. His dark eyes flicked over toward Newt and Credence where they stood in worried silence off to the side.

“What’s troubling, however,” Graves went on, voice so clinical it was almost toneless, “is how ill-timed this attack was. Riling up the non-magical citizens, causing trouble when we’ve got the least need of it. Sounds an awful lot like someone’s clumsy attempt at an anti-war protest."

"Perhaps someone is trying to distract you from your preparations, Your Majesty.” Abernathy was staring pointedly at Newt, now, and Credence’s dread intensified.

“ _What_ ,” the Queen said, so intensely that it was almost as if she’d shouted it. Her face was flushed, her eyes bleary with exhaustion. Her head whipped in Newt’s direction, and Credence felt sick. “You…” she breathed. “Merlin help me, Scamander,” she said, slow and icy cold. “If I find out you did this as some sort of act of defiance…”

“No!” Newt said quickly. “What? No, of course not! Think about that, it makes no sense, I would never try and sabotage you, not when the kingdom is in danger! I have no reason to want to cause you any trouble!”

“Oh, really?” Her Majesty countered, leaning heavily against the side of her throne, a faint sheen of sweat on her forehead. She looked faintly ill, and desperately in need of a nap. “It wouldn’t be the first time you blatantly interfered with my kingdom. As I recall, you had no qualms about breaking the statute of secrecy in the past, flouting my laws, bringing creatures into the city, harboring a fugitive no-maj in that castle of yours…”

“That was… he was eventually allowed to keep his memories! He was hardly a fugitive,” Newt argued. “And the creatures wandered here by accident, you know that! I have never intentionally brought one here to make a scene, I promise you. And anyway, I was here with you today this whole time!”

“A well-engineered alibi,” said Commander Graves. “Though not an infallible one. All he would’ve needed to do was let the creature loose on his way into the city.”

Abernathy nodded. “A time-delayed strike,” he whispered.

Graves' expression remained impassive. “Quite,” he said. “Either that or an incredibly unlucky blunder, a gross display of negligence and irresponsibility. It could've been an accident, a dangerous beast that slipped out of Scamander's pocket again, or perhaps this time he commanded it to do his bidding. Either way, the magnitude of his crime is significant.”

“But that's just not true! None of my creatures caused this!” Newt said desperately. “I swear it. Commander, you know me, we’re familiar enough now that you know I’m not the type to do something so careless. Sure, I made mistakes in the past, but I’m _always_ cautious now.”

The Queen made a soft sound of frustration. “Are you?” she said, squinting at him. “And what is your definition of ‘cautious,’ Scamander? Tell me truthfully, did you bring any beasts with you here today?”

Newt’s eyes widened in panic, and Credence felt his chest seize in horror. “No,” the wizard replied, but he hesitated just a second too long to believable.

“Mercy Lewis,” the Queen hissed, rubbing at the tense lines of stress on her forehead. “Well, at least you’re a terrible liar. Graves should have no trouble getting the truth out of you. Whether this was an accident or some misguided attempt to rile the public, your brand of chaos is not one I have time for right now. Graves, I trust you will deal with this efficiently.” She pulled out her wand and flicked it at a door on the far side of the room, which swung open to reveal another hallway. “Take them down to the basement holding cells for now. We have to go meet with the council in ten minutes,” she sighed tiredly. “Abernathy, I need you there too, ready to take notes.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” the secretary replied immediately, with a hint of a smirk.

Graves made a stiff bow. “I will make this quick, ma’am,” he said. He waved a hand, and Credence’s arms flew behind his back and bound themselves with a clink of a chain. Newt was similarly handcuffed, his wand soaring out of his sleeve to land neatly in Graves’ outstretched palm.

“What? You’re… Seraphina, you’re _holding_ us? This is ridiculous,” Newt protested frantically. “What do you think you’re playing at?”

The Commander and the Queen both ignored him completely. “No concealed weapons, Your Majesty,” Graves said. “If this is a conscious attempt at sabotage, it is an extremely inept one.”

The Queen huffed a dry laugh. 

“This is _not_ sabotage!” Newt panted, struggling against his handcuffs. “I just came here to talk!”

“To talk, yes,” the Commander said. His emotionless gaze traveled over to Credence. “And yet, it seems strange that you brought a guest along, to a meeting this important and this sensitive.”

The Queen and her secretary both fixed their eyes on Credence, and he felt a dark flush crawl up his neck. His tongue stuck in his throat, mind helplessly empty of any clever way to explain his presence.

“Who, him? Oh, he’s got nothing to do with this,” Newt said quickly. “He’s my boyfriend, we met during my travels to Fornolt. He hasn’t got a clue what’s going on, to be honest. Doesn’t speak much English, but he’s an absolute darling. Please, at least let him go. I’ll understand if you need to question me, but he’s completely innocent.”

“Innocent,” Commander Graves repeated impassively, waving the guards forward. “That remains to be seen.” And then there were two pairs of hands grabbing Credence by the arms and marching him along, dragging him when he stumbled over the edge of the midnight-blue carpet. Abernathy, the secretary, had him so tightly by the elbow that Credence was sure to have a bruise later.

“Seraphina, please!” Newt called anxiously. He was being forced to walk behind Credence, the remaining two soldiers towing him between them. “I came here to _help_ you! This is entirely unnecessary, at least let my boyfriend go, please, he’s not dangerous at all!” 

But the Queen had already turned away, slumping exhaustedly back into her throne, and then they were out in the hallway, Commander Graves’ face inscrutable as he shut the door to the throne room with a sharp click.

“You can stop with the theatrics, Scamander,” he said, his voice ringing cold and flat in the sudden quiet. “Nobody is listening.” 

In a swish of his coat, he turned on his heel and motioned for the guards to follow. 

 

Credence’s heart sank lower with every step they took as Graves guided them down a long hallway to a set of stairs leading into the depths of the palace, their footsteps echoing in the stairwell. They descended what seemed like an endless spiral, while Credence tried to crane his neck to catch a glimpse of Newt’s face.

“It’s alright, darling,” the wizard murmured behind him, though his face was pale and worried. “It will be alright.”

The air was cool and damp down here in the underbelly of the building, the rooms carved right into the solid rock of the hillside. They emerged from the stairwell into a dim walkway with flickering sconces lining the rough stone walls, at the end of which was a door made of iron bars.

“Check the other one for a wand,” Graves said over his shoulder as he unlocked the heavy bolt and swung the cell open. There were hands prodding at Credence, searching, but there was nothing for them to find.

“He must not be a wizard,” Abernathy declared, frowning at Credence. He leaned in closer, scrutinizing Credence’s face. “Nothing. He shows no signs of power. But now that he’s been inside the throne room, seen evidence of the Queen’s magic…” he trailed off ominously.

“Well. He’ll have to be obliviated, then, the law is very clear,” the Commander said bluntly. "Better to do it sooner than later." He cupped Credence’s face in one warm dry palm, drawing a smooth black and silver wand from inside his coat.

“What? No, no, _please_!” Newt cried. “Why? What possible harm is he going to do? He would never tell a soul about magic, he poses no threat to Her Majesty.” 

Graves regarded Newt dispassionately. “No? And how do you know for sure? You said the two of you could barely communicate through the language barrier. Hardly grounds for a thorough evaluation of his trustworthiness.”

“Please, you don’t understand, he’s… I’ve discovered his parentage. He’s a squib,” Newt said hurriedly. “He may not be a wizard, but he is part of our world. No reason to take his memories, he has every right to know about us.” 

One of the guards had a look of distaste on her face, a sort of polite scorn mixed with pity. Whatever a squib was, the mention of it apparently made everyone slightly uncomfortable.

“Commander, _please_ , you’d be erasing his recollection of _me_. This is all new to him, and I’ve… I was the one to introduce him to magic. If you do this, he won’t even remember me.” 

Credence could see that Newt’s eyes were wide and glassy, his face distraught, and it was as if an icy cold hand had suddenly gripped his heart. Lose all his memories of Newt and the castle? He would almost rather die. 

“Commander Graves… _Percival_ , I know you,” Newt said, more quietly. “You’re a logical man, and a compassionate one. I am asking you to think about this reasonably. He’s not dangerous in the least, and he… he means a lot to me.”

Graves, however, simply stared coolly at Newt. “Does he?” he asked, his voice echoing oddly in the corridor, blank and detached. His grip remained surprisingly gentle on Credence’s chin. “Why? What use is he to you? A squib you picked up on a sightseeing trip. How much can he really matter?” He raised his wand once more, and Credence was so afraid he couldn’t breathe, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. He looked helplessly at Newt.

“ _NO!_ ” Newt screamed, attempting to throw himself at Graves despite the tight grip the soldiers had on his arms. “Stop it! Please, _please_ don’t do this, he’s not dangerous! He’s not a spy, or anyone of consequence, but he matters to _me_ , alright? I love him! _Please!_ ”

Credence’s heart was hammering against his ribs, hot moisture blurring his vision.

“You love him,” repeated the Commander slowly. “And he isn’t dangerous. How interesting.” He stared at Credence, his dark eyes cold and strangely empty. “Love is blindness, Scamander. If he were dangerous, perhaps you wouldn’t even see it,” the man said. “I’m afraid I’m not convinced. And all your begging tells me is that you are hiding something.” 

His pulse pounding deafeningly in his ears, Credence watched in surreal horror as Graves twisted his wand like a key turning in a lock. Instead of an obliviation spell, however, he heard the man mutter something else.

“ _Revelio_.” 

There was a strange melting feeling on Credence’s face, as if his beard was washing away like paint, his nose returning to its usual size and shape. 

The soldiers leaned in closer, and Credence thought he heard one of them gasp.

Graves’ expression betrayed no shock, just stony-faced indifference. “Well,” he said. “What a surprise.”

“Isn’t that…” one of the guards said, hushed. “He’s from that church group, I used to see him with that preacher woman.”

“That’s right, he’s her son,” Abernathy said intently, his eyes fixed on Credence’s face, something like fury and triumph flickering in their depths. “He and his family are extremely dangerous, they’ve been preaching about witch-burning, spreading fear and doubt.”

“No, no, but he’s been living with me, he’s not–” Newt tried to cut in, but Graves smoothly interrupted.

“This is a far greater threat than any beast you could’ve smuggled inside the palace, Mister Scamander,” Graves said. “The last thing this city needs right now, on the brink of war, is for the non-magical populace to start an uprising. And you come in here with the son of our resident witch-hunter, and allow him to witness the Queen’s magic.”

One of the guards choked in horror. “Oh Merlin! He would’ve gone and told his church full of fanatics! They would’ve tried to burn Her Majesty at the stake!”

“It’s treason, is what it is,” another said, horrified. “Bringing the likes of him inside the palace.”

“What?” Newt asked faintly. “He’s not… no, he would never do something like that!”

“Wouldn’t he?” asked the first guard who had recognized Credence, her face tight with anger. “What were you planning to do, come back tonight with pitchforks and torches? Rouse a mob?”

“You wouldn’t have succeeded,” said Abernathy snidely. “But it would surely have been a complication we don’t have time for right now.” 

Graves raised his wand again. “What do you have to say for yourself, church boy?” he asked coolly. “Your little charade of not understanding has gone on long enough.”

Credence swallowed hard, his skin crawling. “I mean Her Majesty no harm, I swear,” he said quickly, heart pounding. “I ran away from home, I no longer follow my mother’s teachings.” 

Abernathy’s eyes narrowed. Beside him, he guards still looked suspicious, though Graves’ face was as unreadable as ever. Credence struggled to breathe through his panic; the smell of the damp hallway was dank and faintly sour in his nose. 

“I’m not here to cause trouble or to spy,” he gasped out. “Newt’s telling the truth, I’ve been living with him for months, I care about protecting magic's existence and I promise I would never tell anyone about the Queen.”

“Well,” the Commander said. “Promises like that are easy to make when you’ve been caught in a lie.” He was standing close enough that Credence could see the faint lines of exhaustion on his face, the dark shadows under his eyes. “You’ve infiltrated the castle in disguise, lied to an officer of the law about your identity. Not the actions of an innocent man.” He waved his hand. “Put him in the holding cell,” he told the guards. “Take Scamander to my office and don’t take your eyes off him for a second. I will interrogate them both after the council meeting.” He turned to Newt. “This is looking quite a lot like treason,” he said, in that toneless unfeeling voice. “Unless you can somehow convince me otherwise, you’ll both be getting the death sentence tonight. We are pressed for time, and nobody threatens the Queen’s life and walks free.”

Credence felt as if he had been dunked underwater, the world dissolving into sound and color and terror. And then he was struggling uselessly as the solders flung him past the iron bars and shut the door to the cell with a clang, the lock snapping shut with a wave of Graves’ hand. Newt was fighting against the guards’ hold again, his eyes frantic. “ _No!_ Please, just let him go! You need a scapegoat, fine, have me, but _let him go. Please!_ Why won’t you listen to me? Have you all gone mad? This isn’t treason!” he screeched, and Credence felt as if his heart was being cut out of his chest. 

Newt was crying out Credence’s name, and then the soldiers were dragging him away through another door while Graves and Abernathy retreated back up the stairs and all Credence could do was press himself desperately against the bars of his prison and watch in terror while they all disappeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aah! 
> 
> I won't leave you with this cliffhanger for long, I promise. I'm working on finishing up the next chapter by tomorrow :D


	10. Through the Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's right, y'all!!! Another chapter tonight, aaahhhh!! But, just to warn you... this one also has a cliffhanger. So, I'm going to do my best to get the next one up soon too! (not tonight though, I need to go to bed) ;) I knew I was going to try and post 9, 10, and 11 close together so I've been trying to finish all three of them this weekend and I _almost_ did it, except chapter 11 just needs a bit more work. These last chapters need the most re-writes since the story has changed trajectory a bit as I edited it, lol (changed for the better, though, I think!) :D

He didn’t know how long he’d been pacing in the cell, staring at the bars and trying to keep breathing, keep thinking of some way out. Some way to help Newt. Time could’ve been passing slowly, or it could’ve been flying by, he had no way of telling the difference down here in his little windowless dungeon room.

There was a dull buzzing in his ears, like an angry swarm of bees, and he could feel the cold damp air settling heavy in his lungs. He clenched his fist and something crackled, fiery hot, behind his eyes.

What was he going to do? The iron bars must’ve been spelled to withstand any number of attempts at melting or warping them, because no amount of willing them to _get out of his way_ made anything happen. His magic swelled uselessly around him, buffeting him with angry wind and scorching his bones with its desperate attempts to get out, to set him free. 

But it was no use.

There were footsteps on the stairs, coming closer, and Credence’s chest felt like it was being crushed, fear crowding out all other thoughts from his mind. What awful pronouncement would this new arrival bring? That Newt was about to be executed, and Credence was to join him? 

He was so afraid in that moment that his vision went dark and it felt as if an ashy black seep of smoke was crawling up from the raw place behind his soul to hover in the cell, obscuring whoever-it-was as they appeared at the bottom of the steps while Credence busily fought the urge to be sick.

“Oh, Merlin!” came the last voice he’d been expecting. “Oh… Credence, is that you in there? Sweetie, I’m gonna get you out, okay, you just hang tight and think calm thoughts. No need to call on the spirits of darkness, honey, it’ll be alright.”

Credence blinked rapidly as a familiar silhouette appeared through his darkened vision, Queenie’s blonde figure rapidly coming into focus, crouched on the other side of the bars. “Honey, where’s Newt? I could hear his panic all the way up in the third floor ladies’ room.” As she was speaking, she was pulling out a wickedly sharp-looking stiletto knife from her purse and wriggling its slender tip inside the thick padlock on the door. 

“I bet that bowtruckle would do a better job at this, but I’ve got…” The lock made a screeching sound. “Well. Looks like this’ll work. Enchanted against unlocking spells, but not against a good old lock pick. Ha!” She twisted the blade, and there was a reluctant sort of click, followed by her gasp of dismay. The blade of the knife was melting toward her hand, dripping molten metal on the floor.

“Mercy Lewis,” she murmured, vanishing the entire blade with her wand. “Darn. That was one of my favorites.”

But the door was open.

“Hurry, hurry,” Credence said desperately. “Newt’s that way, he’s going to be interrogated and they said something about a death sentence, and I think Graves has already made up his mind that he’s guilty of treason. That man is completely heartless, he’s _awful_.”

Queenie’s features were horrified. “The death sentence,” she breathed. “Oh, no.”

Then they were sprinting, hurrying along through the door in the direction the soldiers had dragged Newt, careening wildly around a corner and down another dim stone hall. How were they ever going to find their way back out of this place? It was like a catacomb, a horrible dank maze.

They skidded around another sharp turn, only to nearly crash into two uniformed guards coming the other way, one of whom was very familiar. 

“Teenie!” Queenie cried breathlessly. “Graves is holding Newt. He means to execute him.”

“What?” Tina yelped. “Why? Is he out of his mind?” She had her wand out in the blink of an eye, turning to run with them.

“Goldstein!” shouted the solder she’d been walking with. “What… Goldstein! Where are you going? We have to file these permits! Anyway, if Graves has made an order, there’s no changing it now. You can’t just abandon your po–”

With a muffled thud, the man crumpled unconscious to the ground, Queenie’s wand whipping over her shoulder. “Sorry,” she panted as they dashed around another corner. “Figured it would be better if I did it. Keep your wand clean of evidence.”

“Probably smart,” Tina replied grimly.

There was shouting up ahead, and more footsteps, and then the three of them emerged into a scene of complete chaos. Annabelle swooped overhead, loose from her cocoon, her bright blue wings flashing almost faster than the eye could follow as she dove toward a handful of soldiers shooting bursts of red light at her with their wands.

“What _is_ that thing?” shouted one man, his back up against a doorway through which they could see several bodies lying on the ground. Credence gulped. Oh God, were they…

“I don’t care, just kill it!” screeched another guard, her wand flying furiously. “Aim for the neck, or the eyes, I don’t know!”

Credence licked his lips, shaking, and did his best approximation of Newt’s summoning whistle, the sound warbling out feeble and soft. But it seemed to work. In a perplexing blur of color, Annabelle rippled in midair and took a steep dive into Credence’s outstretched palm, her spiny little tail curling around his finger as she folded herself up inside her impossibly small cocoon. Hurriedly, he tucked her inside the pocket of his coat.

“What the hell! Who are you, what are you doing down here and what–”

“ _Stupefy_.” Queenie and Tina cast in unison, a confusing blast of color and light. When Credence blinked the spots from his vision, the rest of the soldiers were lying on the stone floor, out cold.

“Guess my wand won’t be so clean after all,” Tina muttered, striding past her unconscious colleagues to check the other bodies in the hall. Credence felt weak with relief when none of them seemed to be dead, just knocked out, none of them missing their brains. Apparently Annabelle hadn’t been feeling in the mood for a snack.

Grimacing, he followed Queenie’s pink coat as it whipped around another corner, resuming their desperate sprint. They had to be close now, surely. How far could Graves’ office be? He was thrumming with adrenaline, his lungs burning and his determination flaming hot. He needed to find Newt, needed to see with his own eyes that he was alright, needed to _get him out of here_.

There was a noise up ahead, a muffled cry and a thump, and then they rounded a curve and there were people in the hall, two guards with an achingly familiar figure struggling between them. A third soldier was unconscious on the ground next to an unlocked pair of handcuffs and Newt's discarded hat.

“ _Stupefy_.” Tina and Queenie really were quite good at that synchronized spell-casting thing, Credence thought, as he watched the remaining two guards fall to the floor.

“Come on,” Tina said grimly. “Newt, are you alright? This way, we need to keep moving.”

Newt had Pickett clinging to his shoulder, a bruise blooming on his cheek, and smear of blood at the corner of his mouth. Credence bit back a furious sob at the terrified look on his face.

“Annabelle,” the wizard whispered, agonized. “I don’t know where…”

“I’ve got her,” Credence said firmly, pressing the little cocoon into Newt’s hand. And then they were sprinting onward, past a gleaming door with a tidy plaque that read _Commander Graves_ , their footsteps echoing on the stone floor. There were more stairs ahead, leading back up again, and Credence nearly gasped with relief when they emerged into an empty hallway lined on one side large windows through which they could see the cloudy grey light of the late afternoon. 

Finally, he could see the sky again. 

“Go, go, get to the roof, summon a broom from somewhere, I’ll stay here and…” Tina began, agonized.

“Nope, stop that,” her sister replied. “Don’t even think about staying to stall them or hold them off. We are all going to get out of here together. You’re implicated in our escape, anyway, you’ve got family ties to me and Newt and a history of questioning Graves’ decisions. Might as well be all of us the run together.” She was pulling open her purse, inexplicably setting it on the floor. “Get in.”

“Queenie, if they catch you…” Tina hissed.

“I know. We’ll be in hot water for sure. But no more so than we will be if we hang around here any longer. _Get in_. I know my way from here. Two lefts and a right, down that long hall.”

Credence stared at the innocuous little pink beaded handbag on the floor. Get in? What…

“Be careful,” Tina said anxiously. “Don’t talk to anyone unless you have to.” She grabbed Newt’s arm and stepped _into_ the purse, first one leg and then the other disappearing inside. It ought to have been impossible, the way all of her seemed to shrink, sucked inside the bag like water in a whirlpool drawn through an incredibly small opening. Newt, pulled along behind, vanished in a flash of wide eyes and long blonde hair, and then Queenie turned to Credence.

“In, quickly.”

But even as she spoke, there was a noise at the far end of the hallway, the creak of hinges and the sharp click of boots. Queenie scooped up the bag just as a set of double doors swung wide open and a guard strolled out with his uniform coat over his arm, at least thirty soldiers milling around in what looked like a break room behind him. The door stayed open, and Credence watched in slow-motion horror as the soldiers’ heads all turned toward Queenie.

“Miss?” one of them asked in bafflement. “How did you get in here? This wing of the palace isn’t usually open for guests.”

“Oh, excuse me,” she said easily. “I’m afraid I’m a little lost. Went to the powder room and got a bit turned around. Would you mind pointing me back toward the doors out to the garden?”

Credence, by happenstance, was obscured behind one of the heavy velvet curtains hanging by the window, barely daring to breathe. The curtains were dusty, and the soldiers were _right there_ , and Queenie was still smiling. How was she doing that? It was an impressive charade, all wide eyes and effortless charm. They didn’t seem to have spotted Credence, and he didn’t dare reveal himself now, not when Queenie had a chance to use this to her advantage. 

A lady on her own, after all, was unthreatening. A lady needed an escort about town, needed help to find her way back from the bathroom. She certainly couldn’t be up to anything suspicious. He inched silently backward and bit back a bitterly sarcastic laugh. _Sometimes people’s old-fashioned assumptions are useful, after all._

“O-of course,” stammered the young man who had just come through the doors, his cheeks turning pink. “I would be happy to escort you back, miss,” he said. “Right this way.”

Queenie’s smile only faltered for a second, and Credence could almost see her resisting the urge to glance in his direction. And then she had no choice but to take the man’s graciously outstretched arm as the room emptied of soldiers, her pink silhouette swept along in a wave of midnight blue uniforms down the hall. Credence’s heart pounded in his throat as the last of them disappeared, the silence of the hallway terribly heavy and bleak. How was he going to get out now?

He was just working up the courage to step out of his hiding spot and try to follow Queenie when another patter of footsteps sounded from the other direction, two soldiers hurrying past with a sheaf of papers. Credence caught snippets of their conversation over the rapid fluttering of his pulse, his own stifled breaths incriminatingly loud in his ears.

“… gave the go-ahead to distribute the prototype to the troops at the border,” one was saying excitedly. 

“Her Majesty approved it, then?” his companion asked.

“She must have,” the first guard replied. “The memo was clear; get the weapons to the border right away. We’ll have to hurry if we want to get them ready for transport tomorrow…”

The two of them vanished around a corner, and Credence let out a long exhale, steeling his nerves. He could do this. Keep his head, find a way out. What was it Queenie had said? _Two lefts and a right, down that long hall._

But, once again, no sooner had Credence began to trot hesitantly down the corridor, then a sudden loud clanging sounded from the depths of the palace, an alarm bell vibrating up from the lower levels they had just fled from. 

Someone must have found his empty cell, the unconscious bodies. 

There were footsteps, too, all of a sudden, coming from all directions. And brisk shouting and doors being slammed, and they were all coming _closer_ and Credence panicked, choosing the only option of retreat he had left. 

His hands shook as he unlatched one of the tall windows. “Oh God, oh God,” he whispered. “Please, please, please, a broom. Now, please.” The window sill was low enough for him to swing his legs over, the wind ruffling his hair. The smell of rain hung heavy on the breeze, heralding the gathering of a storm. “Come on,” he said, more firmly, “Broom! Come _here!_ ”

The market square several stories below him was mostly empty of people, small midnight-blue figures cordoning off a large gouged section where the cobblestones had been churned into rubble. That must be the site of the incident that had happened earlier. Credence squinted into the cloudy darkness for any sign of movement coming toward him, trying not to look at the dizzying drop from here to the ground. The footsteps were getting closer. He tried not to panic.

“Please,” he breathed.

There. A shape, no more than a speck, was zooming toward him from one of the side streets past the fountain, growing larger with each second as it rose out of the city to soar up to the height of the palace. His heart hammering, Credence held out his hand. “That’s it. Come here, I need you.” The broom flew closer, landing with a satisfying thump in his hand. It was an ungainly thing with a wide bristly mop of twigs at the bottom, likely meant for keeping someone’s front stoop clean of dust. 

“Well, all that matters is you came when I asked,” he muttered. There was no time to second-guess himself, no possibility of questioning whether this thing would really fly with him on it. Suddenly, there were soldiers entering the hall, and Credence had no choice but to fling himself out the window in a terrifying screaming blur of color. Then the broom was between his knees and he was shouting, “Up! UP!” and somehow he was narrowly avoiding a collision with the clock tower.

The cold air was sweet and fresh against his face as he banked upward, rising high above the city and leaving the palace to shrink breathlessly behind him. “Oh God,” he said faintly, trying not to look down. There wasn’t even any point in comparing this to his tame little jaunts on Newt’s charmed broomstick. Those were safe, and easy. _This_ was insane, and dangerous and wonderful, so much so that he wasn’t sure if he wanted to weep with joy or succumb to the urge to throw up.

Credence’s sweaty palms had the broom in a death grip, and his body was bent low over the handle, ankles locked around the tail, concentrating very hard on avoiding any thoughts of how high up he was, how certain his death would be if his faltering magic were to stop working. Look, the mountains! Oh, how pretty. Don’t look down, don’t start doubting yourself. 

What would Ariel say? _Stop being an idiot, you’re fine._ And then probably, _Look, you haven’t fallen yet. That means you’re doing something right. Instead of tying yourself in a knot, why don’t you figure out what in Jove’s name you’re going to do now?_

Right. Credence circled above the palace, feeling helpless and terribly sick with worry. Where had Queenie got to? Was she alright, had she made it out? If Graves caught her, caught Newt and Tina… it didn’t even bear thinking about.

He swooped lower, raindrops starting to fall on his chilly hands, dripping into his eyes. The guards in the market square were starting to repair the damage to the ruined ground, he could see the tiny pinpricks of their wands waving the cobblestones back into place, other midnight blue figures keeping the square clear of curious non-magical bystanders.

Credence frowned, scrutinizing the crumbling gash in the square. It was funny, but that blast didn’t look like the work of any beast that he’d studied with Newt. Well… perhaps an Erumpent might’ve been able to cause an explosion like that, but only if she’d been feeling particularly frisky. But then surely she would’ve left a clear trail of damage throughout the city, and people would’ve _seen_ her. Erumpents were hard to miss.

So that couldn’t be it. No, that looked far more like… well, it looked like the result of a plain old blasting hex, which he’d read about in a book on dueling spells. But why would anyone want to cast one of those in the middle of a busy marketplace?

Credence circled back toward the palace, putting his questions aside. One problem at a time; he needed to find Queenie, needed to make sure his friends were alright. The rain began to pour down in earnest as he flew down in a slow arc over the courtyard, his eyes straining for any speck of pink. There were guards down there, shouting and pointing, but he couldn’t see Queenie anywhere. This was useless, he thought in frustration. She could be anywhere, hurt or trapped, trying to find him. She might even be trying to get back to the hallway where he’d been hiding!

 _Queenie!_ , he thought, as loudly as he could. _I got out, I’m on a broom. I can fly back to the castle! I’ll meet you there!_

But he had no way of knowing whether she’d heard him, no way to be certain whether she'd-

Oh no. 

Credence’s broom jolted as a streak of red light flashed past him, aimed by one of the guards on the ground. Apparently they had spotted him, and they weren’t worried about any of the non-magical citizens seeing the flare; in the gathering storm, it was easy enough to pass it off as an odd bit of lightning. The rain was thick and heavy, the clouds a rumbling dark grey. There was shouting, more guards pointing up at the sky. He had lingered too close for too long.

Feeling despair pooling in his heart, Credence retreated out of the reach of their spells, a low peal of thunder sounding in the clouds above. Would the soldiers mount up on brooms to follow him? He hardly thought they would try it in this storm; they’d be crazy to attempt it, and Credence was crazy for being out here in the first place. 

But he had to get to the castle now, see if Queenie had heard him. And if she wasn’t there when he arrived… well, he’d ask Ariel for help, or Jacob. Jacob was there now with Grimm and Mira, keeping an eye on things for the afternoon. Maybe he knew someone, _anyone_ who could help him storm the palace and free the others, if they had been caught again. 

But if they had been caught again, it might already be too late, they might be… no, he couldn’t let himself think about that.

Fighting back bitter worry, Credence turned his broom away from the palace and flew toward the hills, aching desperation giving him speed. He had to get back to the castle, ask Ariel what to do. Maybe Newt would be there when he arrived, and everything would be fine. 

Or maybe… maybe he was being killed right now.

The rain mixed with his tears, blinding him as the storm grew fiercer, buffeting Credence carelessly about on the broom. He was up in the hills now, drenched to the bone and shivering as he flew over blurry forest and tried to flick the wet hair out of his eyes. He felt heavy with misery, he couldn’t think, he couldn’t see, and where… where had the river gone? It was just like his dream. He had flown through this storm already, night after night, fought his way through the wind and the rain under this same merciless canopy of the clouds, lost and afraid. What was he supposed to be looking for? Credence tried to remember the details of his dream, flinching as thunder cracked overhead and lightning flashed over to his left. 

He sobbed, blinking away the afterimage of the snaking bolt of light and veering to the right to give the storm’s eye a wide berth. Please, please, let Newt be alright.

He flew on, the sheeting rain blanketing everything in surreal mist, and things got blearier for a while. He kept losing little dark snatches of time, too cold and too numb to stay alert. There were streams of water trickling along the rough wood of the broom handle, and he watched them dully as they slid across his hand. His fingers were white, and his eyelids were heavy, and he realized he’d stopped paying attention to where he was pointing the broom. He had sunk low in the sky, and there was forest below him, thick forest full of eyes. Full of danger, full of _wolves_.

That was finally enough to shake off the strange fog he’d sunk into. It took him a few tries to get the broom handle pointing upward again, his body stiff with cold and his fingers barely keeping their grip on the waterlogged wood. When he rose back up into the sky, he was far enough from the storm’s center that he could see a small break in the clouds up ahead, a tiny glimmer of light peeking through the roiling black.

What had he seen in his dream, again? The river, it was… it was to the west! Toward the setting sun, its orange rays struggling through the clouds to paint the furthest ridge with light. He re-directed the broom and flew toward that faint glowing beacon, squinting against the wind. Finally, there it was, the river, barely visible, winding like a silver ribbon through the hills. He’d been blown miles off course, and he still had a long way to go, but it twinkled at him in the distance, filling him with hope. 

_Home._

He gritted his teeth and willed the broom to go faster, picturing Newt waiting for him, smiling and relieved and unharmed. The image was a fantasy, nothing more, but it burned through him like a wildfire. _Please,_ he prayed. Wherever he is, he _has_ to be alright.

He had almost reached the river now, all he had to do was follow it upstream toward the mountain. The harsh roar of its rain-swollen current crashed beneath him, audible even as high up as he was, and Credence impatiently brushed his hair out of his face. His dream wasn’t any help now. It hadn’t shown him any glimpses of what came after he found the river again, hadn’t given him any clue whether he would even make it back to the castle or if his friends would be there. But he had to keep going, had to fan the embers of hope, or else he was going to freeze up here and fall off his broom, down into the deep white water.

Newt was waiting for him, he told himself. Just a little further. 

There was a speck in the distance, up at the foot of the glacier where he could just barely see the river splitting in two around a bit of rock. He fixed his bleary gaze on it, wiping uselessly at the rain streaming into his eyes while the speck resolved itself into a dark wet shape, the castle’s wooden hull nearly invisible in the dimming light. Credence squinted, his eyes straining, as he shot toward that smudge of darkness like a magnet drawn to a lodestone. The sun had set now, and there were no stars, and could hardly _see_.

And then he finally was close enough to make out the details, and the castle was much too large and he was going much too fast to stop in time. 

“ _Ariel!_ ” he managed to scream. “ _Ariel, I’m–_ ”

THUD. 

Credence hit the roof in a skidding crunch, the broom’s handle snapping beneath him and a sharp pain blooming in his shoulder. His momentum scraped him along the tiles, shattered chunks of terracotta grinding into his numb palms as he went sliding right over the edge and into the river. 

 

 _Oh_. 

Somehow, that was all he could think. _Oh_.

It was so cold, so final, so… disappointing. He almost couldn’t believe he’d come this far only to fail here. The water was bitingly icy, fresh from the glacier and as frigid as the deepest winter night. His heavy limbs thrashed helplessly as he sank beneath the surface, pinned against the rock by the relentless press of the current as it tucked him within its lethal embrace.

Funny how he had always liked the river, he thought dimly. And now here it was about to kill him. There was no more air, nothing but ice burning down his throat, into his lungs, weighing him down on all sides. He was frozen, a numb slab of stone, losing awareness by the second. Through the roar of the water, he thought he heard someone singing, or maybe they were shouting. It was hard to tell. The world had gone black and quiet, a blurry fog of shadows and dreams.

There was something tugging on him, pulling him upward. He was so cold, dazed and lost in the dark. Was he breathing? He wasn’t sure.

He coughed, sicking up a gush of cold water that made his throat burn and his stomach ache sharply. _Oh_ , he thought. He was alive. Was he alive? The world was strange and dark, the sun had disappeared, and now the water was above his head, floating in the sky. How did it do that?

Credence’s head lolled limply as his hair fell upward. Ah. He was upside down. There was a dim glow, something warm flickering nearby, a patch of firelight from a window. It glittered on the enormous metal-tipped wooden talon holding Credence by the ankles. Was someone shouting? There was water in his ears. He shook his head again, weakly, and sound flared around him with a wet pop.

“…edence! Say something! By Diana’s bow, why’d you go crashing onto my roof? Yeesh, you look terrible! You okay? Come on, say something, please. Breathe, okay? I’m gonna try to set you down. Stop growling, you mangy cur, I’m _helping_. Hey, can you grab hold of his shoulders so I don’t drop him on his head? That’s all he needs, after all this. A concussion.”

Credence heard a yipping noise followed by a low whine. Someone’s arms wrapped themselves around his shoulders, supporting his neck, and the world slowly tipped right-side-up once more, Credence blinking dimly up at Jacob’s worried face, his lips too numb to form words.

“Heewh,” he managed, which was supposed to be _hello_ , and Jacob’s concern seemed to deepen.

“Oh, no, he’s cold as ice,” the man muttered. “Ariel, I need to get him in a hot bath as soon as possible, warm him up. God, his lips are blue.” The world was shifting again, and Credence found himself staring down at the wet rock as it walked past him. Or maybe, as he walked past it? 

No, no, that wasn’t right. Jacob was the one doing the walking, and Credence was tossed over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, his sodden clothes soaking Jacob’s nice waistcoat and shirt. The man was breathing heavily, lugging Credence up the stairs and into the castle, past the fireplace where the flames whispered secrets to him.

 _Cold. So cold_ , they said. _Shiny star, brave and bright_.

There was Grimm, whining and crying, his dark eyes desperate as he trailed behind Credence.

 _Cursed wolf, caged heart. Torn and bound and kept apart_ , the voices in the flames sang quietly. _Bring him back, make him whole, join the pieces, heal the soul…_ Credence couldn’t hear them anymore once Jacob started heaving him up the next set of stairs, Grimm pressing anxiously against the man’s legs to keep him moving.

“Alright, almost there, I know, I’m trying. He’s a lot heavier than a sack of flour,” he panted.

Then they were in the washroom, a sea of blue tile, and there was a gush of water and steam and _oh,_ warm, warm, so hot, too hot, too hot! Credence moaned in pain, thrashing feebly, his throat raw and his voice little more than a croak, as the heat stabbed into the numb deadness of his body. There was growling, suddenly, and shouting, then footsteps on the stairs.

“No, no Mira, don’t come in! I don’t know why the wolf’s acting like this. Grimm, stop that! I’m not hurting him! He needs to get warm again, but it’s not gonna be pleasant. A shock to the system, but there’s no way around it. Sweetheart, will you see if Newt has any of that pepper potion stuff in his cabinet? We need to warm him up from the inside too.”

Credence writhed, lost in a haze of painful sensation as his nerves awoke, on fire. There was a cup at his lips, gentle hands on his jaw. “Please, please, it will help, I promise. Come on, kid.” Then, the taste of cinnamon, a seeping warmth, and a gush of steam.

Jacob was right. It helped, if only for a moment. Credence blinked rapidly, the room swimming in front of his eyes, Jacob’s worried face, his drenched waistcoat. Credence became aware that he was in the bathtub fully clothed, his clothes ballooning around him in the hot water as Jacob carefully tested the temperature. It was… oh, he was draining the water away, and adding more, and now it was even hotter!

Credence didn’t scream this time, but it was a near thing. He was burning, a human torch. If he’d thought the water had been hot before, this was downright scalding! But how was Jacob able to stand it? He had his sleeves rolled up, his hands in the water trying help ease Credence’s ruined boots off his feet.

“We’ve got to do this gradually,” he was saying to Grimm, who was watching intently, looking worried. “Start him on lukewarm water, make it hotter and hotter.”

Credence’s cold-fogged mind lost track of things for a while after that. There were his clothes, in a wet heap on the floor, Jacob’s gentle hands pouring liquid heat over his scalp, murmuring soothing things. Grimm, hunched with agitation, watched the proceedings with deep dark eyes. Some indeterminate amount of time later, Credence realized he was no longer in pain. There was warmth all around him, such wonderful warmth, and its touch now brought sweet relief instead of burning agony. Jacob was wonderful, he thought muzzily, so clever.

“Thhank you,” he managed thickly, his tongue still a bit heavy. The heat was slowly spreading outward, working its way to the tips of his fingers and toes, and he found that he could move them easily once more.

“You bet,” Jacob replied, fervently. “Oh boy, am I glad to see you with some color back in your cheeks. Scared me for a while there.”

“S-sorry,” Credence muttered, blinking. It really had been foolish to fly home in that storm, but what choice did he have? Panic gripped him once more as he remembered that there was _still danger_. What was he doing sitting around having a bath when Queenie, Newt and Tina could be in Graves’ clutches right now?

“Whoa, hey!” Jacob cried, “I’m not sure you should be getting out already.”

But Credence was heaving himself clumsily out of the tub, his legs still slightly stiff and his shoulder harshly painful. The air was cold against his bare skin, but he didn’t have the time to care. “Jacob,” he said desperately, his lips feeling swollen and slow. “Jacob, has Queenie come back yet? With the others?”

The man reached over and firmly wrapped Credence in a big fluffy towel, his expression worried. “No, I… I was hoping you’d know where they went.” His hands were gentle as he tucked the towel around him and knotted it closed.

Oh, no. Credence tried not to cry in frustration. “They’re… I don’t know where they are. I lost them. We were in the palace, and the Queen was very tired and someone blasted up the market and told her it was Newt’s fault and we got arrested, and…” His breath was coming in shallow gasps. “Queenie and Tina broke us out, because Commander Graves was t-talking about executing us for treason, and then we were trying to hide while they were searching and we got separated. I c-climbed out the window. But I don’t know whether she’d gotten to the garden or if she was s-still inside… and what if…”

He was crying now, hot guilty anguish boiling in his stomach at the devastated look on Jacob’s face. 

“Queenie,” Credence breathed. “I’m worried, she… she could still be there.”

“Alright, now, Credence, take a breath,” Jacob said. “Tell me the last thing she said to you. Was there any mention of a place to meet up, a plan?”

He swallowed hard, re-gathering himself. “Well, no, we were going to stick together, I was supposed to climb into her purse, and she was going to get out through a hallway somewhere. Except then we were interrupted and I panicked and hid and I… there were so many soldiers! But she was amazing, so calm. Last I saw, she had convinced a guard that she just got lost on the way back from the powder room, and he didn’t suspect anything, and maybe… maybe she got out before they sounded the alarm.”

Jacob was draping a fleece blanket around Credence’s shoulders now, his eyes worried, and Credence felt supremely unworthy of his gentle compassion. God, why hadn’t he stayed until he’d found Queenie?

“I tried to fly back down and look for them,” he blurted, feeling ashamed, “but the soldiers were shooting at me, and then the storm came and I couldn’t see anything.”

“Credence,” Jacob said carefully. “None of this is your fault. You did exactly the right thing, coming home safe. It doesn’t sound like you had any choice.” His expression was painfully kind. “Look, my wife is the smartest person I know,” he said staunchly. “I’m betting she found a way out of that palace, without even breaking a sweat.”

He was leading Credence out of the washroom now, shepherding him down the stairs to sit in front of the warm fire.

“I won’t say I’m not a little worried. But Queenie has many talents, and one thing I’ve learned is never to underestimate her,” he declared.

Credence settled on the hearth rug, hope stirring in his chest, heated by the glow of the fire. Grimm immediately pressed himself against Credence’s side, whuffing hot breath against his neck and sniffing at the dried tears on his cheek.

“I’ll second that,” said Ariel from her painting. “That’s one witch I would never want to cross. Credence, you okay?”

He nodded, burying his hand in the comforting thick fur of Grimm’s back. “I’ve gotta have Tina look at my shoulder,” he said bravely, clinging to Jacob’s optimism. “As soon as she gets back.” 

“That’s the spirit,” Jacob went on, “I’m sure they’ll be back soon. Mira, you can come down now, sweetie. I’m gonna make some tea. I think our only choice is to sit tight, for now. If she were really in trouble, Queenie would have let me know. She’s got ways.” He tapped his finger against his temple. “So, we wait.”

 

There was little else for them to do, really. When the kettle had boiled, they all settled around the hearth in pensive silence, broken only by the pop and crackle of the flames. Mira was curled into her father’s side on the big armchair, her small face pale and tight with worry as he stroked her hair. 

“Don’t worry, honey,” he murmured. “Your mom’s got a whole lot of power and she knows how to use it. It’s easy to forget, with how sweet and wonderful she is, but she’s pretty dangerous if you get her angry.” He pressed a soft kiss against her forehead.

Grimm had draped himself half over Credence’s lap, and currently seemed determined to burrow into his neck. Credence squeaked in surprise when the wolf licked his jaw, whiskers and fur tickling against his ear.

“Grimm!” he huffed, “what’s gotten into you? I’m alright, I promise.”

Jacob cleared his throat. “He’s been acting a bit strange all afternoon, actually. Must have been worried.”

Ariel snorted. “Strange! That’s one way of putting it. Or stubborn, or belligerent, or _incredibly grumpy_. Credence, that furball was a mess after you left, yipping and growling at Jacob, trying to go through the fireplace after you and Newt.”

“What? Growling?” Credence said. “That doesn’t sound like you.” He cupped the wolf’s heavy head in his palms, staring into his dark eyes. Grimm whined quietly in what might’ve been repentance. “You’ve never growled at any of our friends before. What was that about? I thought you understood we couldn’t take you with us.”

The wolf whined again, sniffing his face, and placed a delicate lick on his forehead.

Credence sighed. “Were you worried?” he asked, stroking his thumbs along the animal’s cheeks. “Oh, Grimm, I’m so sorry you had to stay here and wonder where we went,” he murmured. “There was just no way we could smuggle a wolf into the city without everyone panicking.” 

“He really missed you,” Mira said quietly. “It made him act a little crazy.”

Credence smiled at her, and she managed a small grin in reply. “And then he tried to take your underwear,” she said, grin growing a bit wider. “I told him to put it back, but he wouldn’t listen.”

Sure enough, Credence was mortified to find that two of his recently-worn union suits were tangled on the couch with Newt’s bathrobe and the quilt from Credence’s bed, all of it covered in a dusting of dark fur. It looked as if Grimm had dragged them downstairs to make a sad little nest for himself on which to wait for their return, a nest that smelled reassuringly of both Credence and Newt.

“Oh,” he said, feeling a little bit desolate. “Oh, darling. You really did miss us.” Stiffly, he rose from the hearth rug to fold up his union suits and flop down on the couch in their place. Grimm instantly jumped up beside him, making a pleased little huffing sound. “Well, I’m not going to leave you again,” Credence promised, wrapping an arm around the wolf. “Not ever, not if I can help it.”

Jacob rubbed his hands together. “Well,” he said, “I’m glad to see our furry friend feeling a little more settled now that you’re home. Credence, would you like some food? I can whip up some soup for us, and sausages for Grimm too.”

“Thank you, that sounds wonderful,” Credence said, sinking back into the couch and holding in a wince as his shoulder gave a painful twinge. He was definitely going to need some healing magic as soon as possible; that was more than just a bruise. He got himself arranged comfortably at an angle, with Grimm pressed snug against his side, heavy head on his knee.

“Are you okay?” Mira asked softly. “Was it… what was it like?” She was watching them carefully from her chair, legs folded up under her body.

Credence felt rather wretched. “I’ll be fine, I’m sure,” he said reassuringly. “It was strange to leave the castle, after all this time. I thought it would be an adventure, climbing the steps to the palace, seeing the city again. But now I wish we had never gone.”

Mira twisted a pillow between her hands. “What happened?” she whispered. “Is the war starting?”

Bravely, he met her wide dark eyes. “I don’t know,” he replied honestly, “it might be. But if it does, we’re all going to stick together, and we’re going to stay safe. It will be okay.”

He dearly hoped that he was right about that. She nodded and curled her knees up, hugging the pillow to her chest.

They watched the fire crackle for a while, listening to the clink of dishes in the kitchen as Jacob stirred the soup. Credence tried to ignore the sharp throbbing in his shoulder, focusing on taking deep breaths.

“Newt looked really pretty in his dress,” Mira said unexpectedly, staring dreamily at the flames. “Almost as pretty as Mom.”

Credence let out a surprised laugh, slightly breathless, grateful for the lighthearted change of subject. “Yes. Yes, he did. He would probably look pretty in anything.”

Her gaze sharpened, watching him carefully, her chin resting on the pillow propped on top of her knees. “Did people think he was a lady? That he was your wife?”

Blinking, Credence replied, “Well, um… yes. They thought he was a woman. And that we were… a couple. My… um. They thought I was escorting him through the city.” He could feel a blush creeping over his cheeks at the memory of walking arm in arm, of kissing Newt on the palace steps. “We… encouraged their assumptions.”

Mira just looked at him for a moment longer. And then she smiled, bright and enigmatic. “Disguises are fun,” she murmured.

The soup was ready not long after that, and Credence gulped his serving out of a worn porcelain mug that Jacob helpfully brought over to the couch. It was delicious, warm and filling, and Credence realized after the first sip just how hungry he was. It didn’t take long to drain the cup, and then he carefully accepted a sausage from Jacob to offer to Grimm.

“You must be hungry too,” he whispered. The wolf’s head perked up, and he took the link delicately between his teeth, just like usual.

“Still got good table manners,” Mira pointed out happily. “Even if his mind is a little beastly today.”

Ariel laughed from her frame. “That’s a good way of putting it.”

Grimm licked Credence’s fingers, and he stroked the wolf’s ears. “You want another?” 

The animal’s jaws were painstakingly gentle as he took the next sausage, his dark trusting eyes fixed on Credence’s face.

“Gosh,” Jacob whispered. “Most hungry wild creatures will try and bowl you over to get to their food faster. He really trusts you, doesn’t he? Considers you his pack.”

“Of course he does,” Mira said incredulously, with an air of pointing out the obvious. “Grimm _loves_ Credence.”

Chuckling, Credence ran his fingers through the wolf’s thick fur affectionately. “And I love him too,” he added, “no matter how strange he’s acting.” Grimm sat up to nuzzle Credence’s cheek, and he cupped the wolf’s face in his hand, pressing their noses together. Without giving it much thought, he pressed a soft kiss against the beast’s whiskery lip. 

“Love you, silly wolf,” he murmured.

Several things happened then, in quick succession, too fast for Credence to process. 

First of all, there was a loud popping noise, and then there were suddenly lips on his mouth, human lips, soft and slightly salty. He had a handful of smooth square jaw instead of Grimm’s furry canine head cupped in his palm, and there was another pair of hands clutching his arms in return. 

Also, Jacob started yelling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;D
> 
> !!!!!!!!!!
> 
> ♥
> 
> Updated note 8/19 - derp! I had a vague memory of reading that a warm bath was a good treatment for hypothermia, but I think my memory is super wrong, or maybe I was confusing it with frostbite, or maybe the recommendation has changed since I read that. Anyway, don't take advice from this fic on how to treat hypothermia, I don't think I had Jacob do it quite right. Oops. but we'll just assume Credence is fine. He's robust, he's half star!


	11. The Imposter

When Credence’s brain caught up to what was happening, the first thing he heard was Jacob shouting in confusion. 

“…and where did he come from? Mira, close your eyes! Why is he _naked_?”

Ariel snorted. “Why wouldn’t he be? He was just as naked before,” she drawled. “Jove, that took forever. Credence, I am not recommending your deductive skills to anyone. But I suppose all that matters is that your feelings are pure, and you got there in the end.”

Credence sputtered, extracting himself from the kiss, which was starting to get a bit wet and intense. He pulled back to stare in absolute shock at the naked man half-draped across his lap, familiar dark eyes in an even more familiar face.

“You… _what in God’s name_ …” He struggled to lever himself up from his seat, adrenaline surging through his veins.

That was unmistakably Commander Graves.

Credence shrank away, stumbling slightly. “How did you…? What… are you spying on us for the Queen? What have you done with Grimm? How did you get in here?”

“That’s what I’d like to know,” Jacob said, his voice higher than usual. “Also, how did he become a wolf, and _why is he naked?_ ”

“He… he…” Credence repeated dumbly. “Ariel! How did this happen?”

The nymph raised her eyebrows. “Don’t look at me, Credence, you’re the one who brought him here back in the spring, insisting he wasn’t dangerous.”

“What? You mean, he… he’s been spying on us this whole time? Why didn’t you say something?” he yelped.

“No, no, calm down and _think_ ,” the painting said evenly. “How could he be reporting back to the Queen if he’s never left your side for the past four months, hmm?”

“But…” Credence stared, feeling completely unmoored. The wolf-man himself looked rather muddled too, actually, blinking down at his human hands in hazy wonderment. As Credence watched, the man rubbed experimentally at his face and then tried to stand up, only to topple right off the couch and land in a heap on the hearth rug.

Oh. Oh lord, that was a lot of naked skin.

“ _Four months?_ That long?” Jacob asked faintly. “A… a man... a strange man was living in the castle? Mira, I’d feel better if you went upstairs, just until we know if he’s dangerous or not.”

But Mira didn’t have any such concerns. “Dad,” she protested. “He’s not a strange man, he’s Grimm. And we already know he’s not dangerous. He would never hurt us; we’ve seen how kind he is.”

Grimm… or Graves, or whatever he ought to be called, was struggling once more to stand on two legs. His balance appeared to be a bit off, his brow furrowed in concentration as he wobbled one step toward Credence, who didn’t quite know where to direct his eyes. The man was muscular and somewhat hairy and very _very_ naked, and Credence made a tactical decision to pull the fur-covered quilt off the couch and wrap it firmly around his waist. This served to make everything a little less awkward and a little _more_ intense, seeing as it brought Credence nose to nose with the wolf-man and his focused stare, his soft smooth lips. Oh, lord, he had just been kissing those lips! Credence could feel his face burning as he tucked the corners of the quilt together, glancing uncertainly into the man’s face, inches from his own. The stranger was wearing an expression of fondness now as he looked back at Credence, and his eyes were still Grimm’s eyes, dark and earnest.

Credence let out a careful breath, relaxing slightly. “Okay, so… so you’re still _you?_ ” he asked slowly. “And… um, do you have a twin brother? Because you look just like Commander Graves. Only, you’ve been here this whole time and he’s…. well, I get the sense he rarely leaves his post. You can’t possibly be the same person.”

The man looked like he was trying to form words, but his tongue didn’t quite remember the shape of his human mouth. “Grruhd,” he managed, and then immediately looked very frustrated with himself.

“Oh,” Credence said, immediately sympathetic. “Oh, it’s okay.” Tentatively, he guided the man to sit back down on the couch. “I’m sure you’ll get used to talking again. It’s not your fault. It must be very disorienting, to suddenly have a whole different jaw. Here, would you like some water?”

Credence snapped his fingers and summoned a glass, which filled itself obligingly at his command. 

Jacob stared at him. “Wow, I didn’t realize you’d gotten so good at that, Credence,” he said carefully. “Do you, um… do you think we ought to get him something to wear, too?” 

The quilt wasn’t really doing a very good job of covering Grimm up, especially because the man himself wasn’t doing anything to keep it from coming untucked, too intent on staring enraptured at Credence while he drank his glass of water.

“Ah,” Credence replied, flushing, “yes, I suppose so. And I should probably get dressed as well.”

This was easier said than done. Grimm was a broad man, with wide muscular shoulders that didn’t look like they’d fit into any of Credence’s things. They finally managed to wriggle him into Newt’s bathrobe, which Grimm would only consent to put on after he’d inexplicably rubbed it against Credence’s face.

“Still thinking like a wolf, then,” Ariel said dryly. “He wants it to smell like you.”

“O-oh,” Credence sputtered weakly. “I see.” Grimm smiled at him with a hint of animal in his eyes, his grin just a little bit pointy. 

Credence himself had managed to pull on some underwear and trousers underneath the towel, but a shirt appeared to be too much for his injured shoulder. “Um… Jacob, do you have any idea how to rig up a sling? I can’t lift my arm, and I think I better try not to move it until Tina can fix me up.” Credence hissed in pain as he tried to shift his elbow and his entire shoulder lit up in agony, the towel falling to the floor.

“I’ll do my best,” Jacob answered. 

They ended up managing to get Credence’s shirt halfway on, with another one tied around his neck to support his elbow and keep his arm stationary. As long as Credence barely moved, the pain was dull enough to be bearable. They settled awkwardly back on the couch, Grimm’s palm automatically inching over to rest on Credence’s thigh.

Credence took a deep breath, trying to adjust to how strange this was.

“Alright,” Jacob said, waving his hand in a vague gesture of baffled acceptance. “So, we’ve got a man now in place a wolf. A wolf-man? Is he going to change back?” he asked pragmatically. “Is this a full-moon thing?” 

Mira looked fascinated. “Ooh, I’ve read about creatures like that! If you chase one through the woods at night and drink water out of its paw-print you become just like him, half-human, half-beast!”

“No, no, no,” Ariel cut in, “those legends always get it wrong. But that’s a lesson for another night. _He_ is not a werewolf. He’s just a man who has been living as a wolf for quite a long time. Against his will, too.”

“You mean… a curse?” Credence said, dismayed. “He was under a curse? Ariel! How long have you known? Why didn’t you say anything? He’s been suffering this whole time!”

“Whoa, hey, it wasn’t as if I had a choice! Believe me, I wish I could’ve said something, if only to speed things along,” Ariel said vehemently, “but it would’ve ruined his chances of ever getting rid of this. I’ve seen this kind of curse before, it’s a classic.” She sniffed scornfully. “Some people have no originality, always re-using the same old ideas. Blah blah, turned into a beast, yadda yadda, true love's kiss, same old shebang.” 

“Ruined his chances?” Credence asked, uncomprehending.

“Yep,” Ariel replied. “The remedy has to come freely, with no direct prompting, or else it won’t work. Has to be a natural impulse motivated by genuine feeling. A kiss from someone with true love in their heart, a love pure enough to see beyond physical form.”

“Oh,” Credence breathed. Beside him, Grimm was gazing at him with clear adoration, thumb rubbing across his knee. Credence gave him a tentative smile.

“So, really, I’d imagine that waiting a while to become human again wasn’t so bad,” Ariel said, “considering he was with you. It was only a matter of time until you freed him, and in the meantime he got to live in _my_ castle, which is the nicest castle around,” she added proudly. “He was hardly suffering.”

“Of course,” Credence said quickly, “The castle is lovely. But to be forced into a body that wasn’t his, losing a piece of himself, his identity…”

“Ah,” Ariel said quietly. “Yes, that can’t have been enjoyable. But at least you talked to him and treated him like an equal, probably reminded him who he really was. And he was warm, and fed, and respected. This is a paradise compared to living in the wild, trying to cling to the ability to reason while anger and boredom and loneliness drive you mad.” She sounded as if she was speaking from experience. “This is a safe haven, believe me.”

“Then, you were happy? You _are_ happy? Here, with us?” Credence asked Grimm softly. The man was sitting very close, his head lolling comfortably against the back of the couch, his cheek pressed against Credence’s good shoulder.

“Harhp,” he said seriously, frowning for a moment. Then he squeezed Credence’s leg in a way that seemed reassuring.

Despite himself, Credence couldn’t help but giggle at the absurdity of all of this. “Well, at least you can express yourself with your hands and your eyebrows now. When you were a wolf I had even fewer clues as to what you were thinking, and we still managed to enjoy each other’s company. We’ll work on honing your conversation skills, and in the meantime I expect we’ll do just fine with gestures, how about that?”

No explanation was needed to decipher the look on the man’s face now. He was smiling, soft and fond.

“Alright, good,” Credence said, hesitantly covering the man’s hand on his leg with his own palm. Grimm’s smile grew.

“Well,” Jacob said, “I’m sure you’ll have him speaking in complete sentences in no time. For now, though, maybe we ought to think about getting some rest. I’m going to stay up, watch the journal for any news, but the rest of you ought to ge–“

Without warning, the fireplace flared green, bright hot flames licking up the sides of the grate as three very disheveled people climbed out, brushing the ash off their damp clothes. Dizzy with relief, Credence shot to his feet along with Jacob and Mira.

“Honey!” Queenie cried, throwing herself at her husband and scooping Mira up along the way. The three of them were suddenly hugging fiercely, Jacob’s face buried in Queenie’s neck.

“Oh, thank Merlin,” Tina breathed, “Credence, we were so worried…”

Newt looked rather frantic actually, his face pale as he strode forward. The enchantment on his hair appeared to have worn off, and his copper curls were wet with rain, his pink dress streaked with mud. He reached out as if to embrace Credence but stopped short at the sight of the makeshift sling. “Oh, you’re hurt,” Newt cried, sounding devastated. “Merlin, I was such a fool! I brought you into such danger, we never should’ve gone to the palace, and I–” He froze suddenly, eyes huge. 

“What…?” Tina choked, staring in the same direction.

They both seemed to have spotted Grimm still sitting on the couch, the wolf-man’s dark head tilted slightly while he watched them all with innocent curiosity. Grimm leaned toward Newt in recognition, half-rising from his seat, looking hopeful.

There followed a good bit of chaotic yelling.

“ _What is he doing here?_ ” Newt shouted first, grabbing Credence and trying to tug him away. “How… how did he find us? Darling, is he the one who hurt you? You bastard, if you laid a finger on–”

Credence, however, was busy trying to block Tina’s wand, which she had drawn immediately upon Newt’s yell. Her expression was tightly focused as she pointed it straight at Grimm. “Credence!” she barked, “get out of the way! What happened? Did he follow you home? Did he cast a spell on you?”

“No, no! He’s not actually dangerous! He’s just…” Credence began, but he tripped over the towel on the floor and jarred his shoulder, letting out a white-hot sob of pain.

From there, everything became very loud and confusing. Grimm had instinctively hunched his neck at all the noise, and was forcing his way closer to Credence to reach for him in concern, while Credence clenched his teeth through the aching stab of agony in his shoulder. Newt had Annabelle in his hand and looked like he was about to summon her out of her cocoon, and Tina was yelling something about the imperius curse and a confundus charm, aiming her wand at Grimm and shooting a burst of red light at his unprotected back. Without stopping to think, Credence flung his hand out to intercept her spell, a small crackling ball of white-hot fire shooting out of his palm. It collided in midair with Tina’s magic, which exploded in a shower of sparks.

“ _WHOA!_ ” shouted Ariel. “Whoa, whoa, whoa _whoa!_ I am made of _wood_. Fire in the fireplace only!”

“Sorry,” Credence gasped, staring in shock at his hand. Since when had he been able to make fireballs? But Tina still hadn’t lowered her wand. “Tina, please, he’s not who you think he is,” he tried to explain. “I know he looks just like Graves, but he’s not him! He’s someone else, someone we don’t know; he’s been cursed, he’s been here all along but we don’t know who he is!”

“You see?” Tina said, looking worried. “Confunded. He’s not making any sense.”

Newt nodded grimly and whistled to Annabelle, who appeared in a soaring sweep of blue and green. Grimm, startled by the creature flapping around his head, crowded Credence protectively back toward the couch, accidentally bumping his bad shoulder again. Credence lost his balance and fell onto the cushions, his vision fizzing at the corners as he let out a breathless whine of agony. Tina charged at Grimm, a well-timed flick of her wand binding his hands tightly behind his back. The next second, she had him kneeling on the floor with her wand pointed at his heart. Credence struggled to his feet to try and intervene only for Newt to seize him around the waist, carefully tugging him aside, avoiding his injured arm.

“No, no, darling, he’s not safe, no matter what lies he’s told you.” Newt’s grip was incredibly strong for such a slim man.

Credence was beginning to feel a bit frustrated. “He’s not lying, and neither am I,” he said loudly. “If you would just _listen_ , he’s been here this whole time…”

Newt cupped his face gently. “Sweetheart, nobody said you were lying. But that man has tried to kill me twice today, and I’d like to make sure we don’t have to endure a third attempt.”

Credence opened his mouth to argue further, but he was momentarily silenced by the appearance of Tina’s wand a scant few inches from his face. “ _Finite incantatem,_ ” she said intently, watching Credence like a hawk.

Credence sighed. “Thank you, Tina, but I’m not under a confundus charm, or whatever you called it,” he said evenly. “Now would you please stop harassing my wolf?”

“What?” Tina squawked. 

“Um,” Jacob put in, “he really is the wolf. We saw him transform with our own eyes, all of us.”

Tina, however, looked even more alarmed. “He snuck in here disguised as your wolf? And you aren’t afraid of him? Merlin, he really did a number on you. Newt, I’m not sure I’ve got the skill for this. _Accio calming draught!_ Can you help Credence drink this? Queenie, we’ve got to sit them all down and…”

But her wand hand was stopped by Queenie’s pink-tipped fingers wrapping around her wrist. “Wait,” Queenie said softly, “calm down, I can’t hear.”

“Calm down?” Tina hissed. “He’s confunded all of them! Even Mira! Had them sitting here like ducks in a row.”

“Or,” her sister said, “this isn’t the same man we just narrowly escaped from.” Queenie was looking at Jacob, her gaze distant, like she was listening to something. “Teenie, they don’t sound confunded.”

“Alright, then, hoodwinked in some other way!” Tina burst out. “It could be the imperius curse controlling them, or they could’ve ingested some sort of potion, or…”

“Ahem,” coughed Ariel.

Queenie’s gaze snapped up to the painting above the mantel. “Yes, but Teenie, none of those things would work on a dryad. Ariel, what happened?”

Tina, speechless, swiveled her head to stare at the nymph. 

“Well,” drawled Ariel smugly, “so kind of you to ask. Good thing one of you has got your head screwed on straight. Though that was awfully amusing to watch, I mean, it was very theatrical. Mistaken identities, reunited lovers, imminent danger, slapstick confusion, potions prescribed for all the wrong reasons! I mean, we’ve even got Newt crossdressing, it’s almost too perfect not to turn into a one-act play, you could–”

“Ariel,” Newt cut in warningly. “What is going on here? Stop joking around.” He had summoned Annabelle back into her cocoon with one hand and was clutching Credence tightly with the other, his face pale.

“What, it’s funny!” Ariel chortled. “You were all chittering like squirrels. Alright, alright. You don’t have to worry about Credence, Newt, he’s not been tampered with in any way. Well, aside from smashing himself into the roof when he crash-landed on top of my head earlier and then nearly drowned in the river. Tina, you’re gonna want to have a look at his shoulder; from the way he’s been wincing I’m guessing he’s got something broken in there. Incidentally, a calming draught would’ve been a bad idea considering it might react poorly with the pepper-up Jacob gave him earlier to help with the hypothermia.”

“Mercy Lewis,” Tina breathed, looking taken aback. “Hypothermia? How long was he in the water?”

“For as long as it took me to figure out where he went, then reach in and pull him out,” Ariel said crisply. Credence shivered slightly. Put that way, it sounded so short and simple, but down there under the current it had felt like an eternity of hungry icy darkness.

Newt, his eyes huge and anxious, immediately pressed one warm palm to Credence’s forehead. “You fell in the river? You do seem a little clammy. Oh, love, your poor shoulder! Thank goodness you didn’t hit your _head_ , Merlin, that could’ve been terribly serious, especially without a helmet. Tina, come examine him, I’ll keep my wand pointed at… oh, _bugger_ , no I can’t. I keep forgetting that terrible man still has it.”

Newt was babbling, twisting his fingers together, his hands fluttering and empty without the customary weight of his wand. It must feel awful, to suddenly be cut off from his ability to do spells.

“It’s alright,” Queenie said firmly. “I’ll keep an eye on our mystery guest while you two patch Credence up.” She took Tina’s place pointing her wand at Grimm, staring down at the man with curious blue eyes. “Might give me a chance to see what he’s got going on in his head.” 

Grimm himself seemed ruffled and annoyed but otherwise fine, craning his neck to look searchingly over at Credence.

“Don’t worry,” Credence said to him quietly.

“Curdonf,” the man replied, trying to lean toward him. “Hurrth.”

“I’m okay,” Credence murmured. “It’s alright, Tina’s going to help me. Then we’ll figure this all out, I promise.” When he looked up again, Tina and Newt were staring at him. “Um. He’s still getting used to human speech again,” he said. “He’s only been a man for a few minutes.”

Ariel made a quiet thoughtful noise. “Or, you know… most of a man,” she said, squinting at Grimm. “Now that I can get a better look, I’m not so sure all the pieces are there,” she murmured. “He looks a couple oars short of a rowboat, if you know what I mean.”

Credence frowned, not sure what she was implying. Grimm couldn’t help it that he was having trouble talking like a human again.

“Okay,” Tina said slowly, drawing his attention back. “So. Credence, where does it hurt?”

Newt hovered protectively as she unwrapped Credence’s sling so he could point to the spot that went hot with pain when he tried to move.

“Uh huh,” Tina muttered. “Must be a broken clavicle. I see it all the time with guards mounted on brooms. Likely some soft tissue damage as well, if you really wrenched it. What happened, were you trying to land?”

Credence grimaced. “If I had been able to see, yes. But I had water in my eyes and the sun had set. I could hardly spot the castle until it was too late.” He turned to Newt. “I’m really sorry. There’s going to be some roof tiles that need replacing.”

Newt looked like he was restraining from saying several things, his eyes very bright. “Credence, love, I don’t care one jot about the roof,” he said quietly. “Did you fly all the way home on a broom?”

Credence nodded, wincing as Tina tapped his shoulder with her wand. A moment later, however, the pain in his collarbone faded and he was left with a dull, stiff soreness.

“Oh, that feels much better,” he gasped. 

“Mending bones is quick if you know what you’re doing,” Tina said with a small smile. “The muscles around the injury, though… I can’t do much for those. They’re going to be sore for a good while, and you should try not to aggravate them by moving your arm much. We’ll work up to getting you mobile again with gentle stretches.”

“Okay,” he breathed. “Thanks, Tina.”

“No problem,” she replied briskly. “Now, what’s this I hear about you flying home in that storm? I think maybe we better give you a second dose of pepper-up to chase the chill away.”

Gratefully, Credence nodded again. He could still feel a lingering bit of that bone-deep cold; another potion sounded wonderful.

“So, that’s where you went?” Queenie asked. “Honey, I am so sorry I left you hiding there. I was hoping I could clear the hallway for you to sneak out, but I didn’t anticipate the alarm. It must’ve been a close call, huh?”

Credence, with Newt’s help, was busily trying to get his shirt back on, moving his shoulder as little as possible. “Yeah,” Credence said. “Uncomfortably close. I jumped out the window just as the guards showed up in the corridor.”

Newt paled, his expression crumpling. “Oh, sweetheart. But you managed to summon a broom?”

“Yep,” Credence huffed ruefully, “somebody’s shop broom from the city. They’ll have nothing to sweep their front stoop with tomorrow morning. I’ve no hope of giving it back, either, it got snapped by the impact when I landed.”

Newt looked ill with regret. “I am such a buggering _idiot_. I… I should’ve grabbed you faster, pulled you into the bag with us. When you didn’t appear, it was…” His hands were trembling slightly, having trouble doing up Credence’s shirt buttons.

Credence gently wrapped his fingers around Newt’s wrists, pressing their foreheads together. “Not your fault,” he whispered. “I’m sorry I worried you. Don’t worry, I’m fine now.”

Newt let out a quivering breath, his hands tangling themselves in Credence’s shirt. “Good,” he said shakily, “and you’re going to stay that way, if I’ve got anything to say about it.”

“What about you three?” Jacob asked. “What happened after you got separated? Did you find another way out of the castle?”

“Oh, yes,” Queenie replied. “Though it wasn’t as tidy as I would’ve liked. The alarm went off, and folks got suspicious, and I had to stun the nice guard who was escorting me and set off a couple decoy explosions, but then I managed to break into the portkey office and activate one to take us out of there. Unfortunately, it was pre-spelled to go to the army outpost downriver, so I ended up having to run for it again. It got a little dicey, but I finally managed to find a dark corner to let these two out of my purse. Then Graves showed up on our tail and started throwing some serious combat magic around and we had a couple of close calls. Managed to give him the slip and apparate back to the city, but we had a heck of a time finding a fireplace to use at this time of night.” She looked grimly at Jacob. “I didn’t dare go back to the bakery, in case they were watching it,” she added quietly.

Jacob nodded seriously. “Well,” he said. “I’m glad you made it here. We’ll just have to check on the bakery another day.” 

She gave him a tight, regretful smile and wrapped her arms around him once more, and Grimm took the opportunity to struggle to his feet, swaying slightly. Tina immediately had her wand pointed at him, but Credence gently put his hand on her wrist.

“Hang on,” he said calmly. “He’s _not_ Commander Graves. You’ve been running from him all evening, right? But Grimm has been here this whole time.”

“So this… this is really Grimm?” Newt said slowly. “This whole time… you mean, ever since you first arrived, the wolf’s been a man? Ever since spring…?” He trailed off, his expression growing furious as he whirled toward the fireplace. “ _Ariel!_ When were you planning on telling me?”

“Well, you never asked,” Ariel replied blithely. “So I figured you knew. Come on, he was too persnickety to be a real wolf, even one with magical intelligence. Look, Captain, I didn’t know who he was, I’ve never met this Commander guy! I just knew that when he came here he was cursed. But Credence took care of that the old-fashioned way.”

Newt’s mouth fell open, and he stared at Credence for a moment, speechless.

“You mean…” Tina whispered incredulously, her gaze locked on Credence’s face, which was slowly flushing red. Was it… was it common knowledge that a kiss broke this sort of spell?

“Grrundelwarrd,” slurred Grimm suddenly, breaking the stunned silence.

“What?” Credence breathed, rushing to catch the man as he swayed slightly on his feet. “Did you say…?”

“Grindelwald,” repeated Queenie clearly, letting go of Jacob. “Yes, I think that’s who cursed him, he’s got a blurry picture in his mind of someone very pale standing over him, and he remembers the pain of the forced transformation. I still haven’t been able to get a clear read on most of his thoughts, though.” She frowned. “It’s strange, but it seems like he’s got chunks missing, memories with gaps in them. And, of course, there are some lingering wolf instincts running rampant in there. He’s worried, and confused, and very angry at Grindelwald. And he doesn't like it that Credence still smells like the river, and Newt’s been away for too long and doesn’t smell like home anymore. It’s all making him feel antsy. He'd like to scent you, if you don't mind.” 

“Oh,” Newt said, eyes wide. “Oh, alright.” 

Taking the invitation, Grimm carefully leaned forward and rubbed his cheek against the wizard’s face, making an affectionate happy noise. Newt appeared a bit shocked, though pleasantly so. “Yes, hello,” he murmured. “I missed you, too. Goodness. Um. Could we untie his hands, please?” he asked. Grimm was wobbling a bit, his weight sagging into the wizard’s torso.

“Sure,” Tina said, looking startled.

As soon as his hands were free, Grimm wasted no time in wrapping his arms around Credence’s waist too, nuzzling into his neck. “Okay,” Credence squeaked. Grimm took a tiny experimental lick behind his ear. “Ah! Yes, you’re very thorough. Good job.”

Pleased, the man snuffled him once more and drew back, and Credence took the opportunity to manhandle his bulk onto the couch. “There, is that better?” he asked, taking a seat beside Grimm and pulling Newt down on his other side. 

Tina was staring at him again. 

“Credence,” she said slowly, coming closer to stare into Grimm’s eyes. “I… okay, I’m not disputing that this is Grimm, but… he’s also _definitely_ Commander Graves. I’ve worked with him for years, I know what he looks like. So…”

Grimm was looking back at her carefully, his dark eyes narrowed in concentration. “Grrstern,” the man said, then shook his head slightly and tried again. “Gorstein.”

“That’s right,” Tina replied quietly. “It’s Goldstein. Hello, sir. It seems like you’ve been having a rough year.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Queenie breathed. “Oh no.” Her eyes were widening with understanding.

“What?” Credence asked. “What do you mean? How can he be Commander Graves? We just met Graves at the… at the…”

“Bloody hell,” Newt swore. “That slimy bastard!”

“I had it backwards, then,” Credence choked out. “This was Graves the whole time. Which means that the man at the palace was… _not_.”

“No, I’m guessing he wasn’t,” Queenie. 

“ _Grrindelwarld_ ,” snarled Graves. He looked over at Newt. “ _Wankerr_ ,” he added darkly.

“Yes, I quite agree,” Newt said crisply, reaching across to squeeze Graves’ hand, his face pale. “He’s a complete wanker. So that was Grindelwald at the palace, then? And to think, he had me right within his grasp, I walked in there like a complete fool, and brought _Credence_ , oh, Merlin!” His voice was distraught. “What has he been doing, parading around with your face this whole time? Abusing your position for his own sick amusement? Merlin, no wonder he demoted Tina, he probably knew she’d catch on.”

Graves made an unhappy noise that seemed to indicate agreement. Queenie, who had wandered closer, let out a pained breath, her eyes a little red.

“Queenie, you okay?” Tina asked immediately.

“Oh,” her sister replied. “Just… oh, that’s awful.” She crouched in front of Graves and hesitantly placed her hand on his arm. “He’s really a nasty piece of work, isn’t he? Kept you all chained up at first.” Her voice grew softer. “Tortured you. Made a sport out of goading the other wolves to attack you. Even when you escaped, he kept hunting you...”

Graves looked uncomfortable under her close scrutiny, turning away to stare determinedly at Credence’s knees.

“I’m sorry,” she breathed. “Alright, I won’t pry any further. But there are things we need to know, Commander. Did you hear Grindelwald say what the point of all of this was? Did he have a larger purpose, aside from waiting for Newt to show up so he could frame him for some crime and steal his power?” She glanced at Newt. “As sparkly a prize as you are, honey, I doubt he did all of this just for you.”

Credence felt an icy stab of belated understanding. The death penalty would’ve been the perfect cover for that monster to whisk Newt away and cut out his heart. Oh, _God_.

“Murrea,” Graves spat angrily, his tongue still having a bit of trouble. He met Queenie’s eyes intently. “Wurr.”

“Myria?” Queenie repeated. Her gaze snapped over to Tina, panicked. “Teenie, he’s been… oh, no, he’s… are you sure about that? Did you hear him explain…?” She looked back at Graves, looking deep into his eyes. “Oh. Of course, he gloated about his plan to you. That arrogant rat.” 

She took a steadying breath in the silence of the room, nobody making a sound, even Ariel watching closely from her frame. “This war is Grindelwald’s handiwork,” Queenie announced. “He’s been fanning the flames of conflict with Myria. Forging fake letters and sabotaging every attempt at a peace treaty. He wants the two kingdoms to destroy each other so that he can step in and create a new empire from the ashes of both of them,” Queenie said solemnly. 

Tina looked horrified.

Newt made a noise of frustrated triumph. “Well, I was right. Not that it brings me any joy.”

Queenie grimaced. “There’s more. His vision for himself is very specific: a magical ruler, a sorcerer king, feared and worshiped by everyone. He’s been waiting in the shadows until the right moment to kill the Queen, take her place, and bring magic out into the open. He wants to crush the ordinary folk under his heel, enslave them under a ruling class of wizards.” Her voice was tight with anger and worry, her eyes drifting over to Jacob. “Non-magical people are lesser beings, in his eyes.”

Credence felt a hot spike of anger. His sisters were not _lesser beings_.

Newt grimaced. “This, unfortunately, does not surprise me in the least,” he said lowly. “He is insane, after all. He thinks that it is the natural way of things, for the mighty to rule over the weak. For the greater good.” He frowned bitterly. “And, no doubt, for his own vanity. He wants something to pour into his shriveled ego, countless terrified subjects to force into praising him. And the ability to execute them and eat their hearts whenever he likes.”

Credence blanched, and Mira gasped. Newt immediately looked regretful. “Sorry, darling,” he said quietly. “But that is the way of it.” He swallowed hard. “We can’t… we can’t let this happen. Obviously.”

Graves made a noise that sounded almost like a growl, and Tina looked furious. “No,” she spat, “we can’t. _Merlin_ , why didn’t I see it before? He’s demoted all of Her Majesty’s closest supporters, leaving her open to attack. He’s probably been drawing the threat of war out for so long in order to break her down, make her sleep-deprived and stressed, exhausted and off her game. She’s a force of nature otherwise, much too powerful for a cowardly snake like him to take out.” She stood abruptly, drawing her wand, eyes blazing. “Well, we’ve got to go stop him.” Her mouth thinned to a grim line. “If he means to kill her while she’s weakened, we have to make sure he never gets the chance.”

She raised her wand, as if to go charging back to the palace that very instant.

“Sweetie.” Queenie’s voice was gentle but firm. “I agree completely. But we need to think about this rationally. We can’t just show up there tired and crazed with a half-formed plan.”

“I am not _crazed_ ,” Tina retorted hotly, her expression nevertheless a bit wild. “My Queen is in danger. I can’t just sit here and do nothing.”

“I’m not asking you to,” her sister replied. “ _Sit_ , but do _something_. Plan. Tell us how to sneak into the castle, where Her Majesty will be tomorrow at dawn. In her bed-chamber?”

Tina goggled at her. “Well… yes, I mean… I think so.” Her gaze sharpened. “But why dawn? Why not go now?”

“Because we are all tired and chilled, and Commander Graves can’t quite keep his balance yet,” Queenie said bluntly. “Credence still needs that second dose of pepper-up you said you were going to give him, and several hours of sleep, and Newt’s been keeping silent about some pain in his ribs from where he got slammed down onto those train tracks.” She pressed her lips together worriedly. “I know time is scarce, but not so scarce that we can’t make sure that we are healed and capable. So that we make the most of our _one and only shot_.”

This seemed to cow Tina into silence. “Oh,” she said quietly. “I see your point. Okay, we leave at dawn. I suppose I do need some time to rig up an illegal portkey, anyway. I can slip us through the wards on the palace roof, and then we’ll climb down into Her Majesty’s bedchamber. She won’t be happy to see us, but the sooner we can convince her that we’re telling the truth, the sooner she can be on her guard against Grindelwald. Jacob, Mira, best go get some rest now, both of you. Credence,” she said, flicking her wand, a bottle of red liquid zooming into her hand. “Drink this before you go to bed. Commander, you ought to find somewhere to sleep too, sir. We’ll need you able to stand up tomorrow to try and explain to the Queen what happened to you, so gather as much strength as you can.”

Graves nodded, though he looked worried, and Credence couldn’t help but feel the same. What would they do if the man was still having trouble talking when they got there in the morning? Would the Queen believe him? Credence swallowed down a lump of nervousness. For God’s sake, Graves could barely say his own name, let alone convince anyone of his legitimate identity. Not that it was his fault; after so long as a wolf, it must be beyond strange to re-adjust to being human.

Innocently proving his point, Graves chose that moment to lean into Credence, surreptitiously sniffing at his hair.

“Now, let’s see those ribs, Newt,” Tina said matter-of-factly. "No more hiding from me."

“Oh,” the wizard said, a little sheepish. “Right, of course.” Moving slowly, he unzipped his pink dress and let it fall to his waist, revealing a lean torso and pale freckled skin, his chest covered with a padded silk brassiere. Credence, blushing, tried not to stare. There was a livid bruise blooming across Newt’s side, and the wizard winced slightly when Tina prodded around the edge of it.

“Hmm,” she muttered to herself. “Healing salve, bruise removal paste.” She flicked her wand and a small jar came sailing down from the medicine cabinet upstairs. “This ought to help.”

Carefully, she spread a thick layer over Newt’s purpled skin, bandaging it neatly with clean linen.

“Now, try not to sleep on that side tonight. It should feel much better in the morning.” Her hands were very gentle as she helped Newt pull his dress back up.

“Thank you,” the man said, his voice tired. “And Tina, you’d better get some rest too.”

Tina glanced in Queenie’s direction, a determined look on her face. “I will,” she promised. “After I’ve done some strategizing.”

Queenie nodded. “Good idea,” she said. “Let’s sit down and work through a plan, and some backup tactics just in case. I liked that one you were just picturing. And a map, for if we get separated.” She turned toward the couch. “You fellas go on up to bed now, get as much sleep as you can. We’ll get you up to speed in the morning.”

Credence was perfectly happy to follow her suggestion; he felt completely exhausted, wiped out by the events of the day. It seemed like an eternity since the morning, when they’d eaten breakfast together happy and unaware of what was to come. 

He clutched his vial of potion as he shuffled across the room, helping Graves keep his balance. Newt, moving stiffly, was supporting the Commander on his other side, all three of them gingerly leaning on each other.

“Do you think you can manage the stairs?” Credence asked Graves.

The man squared his shoulders, an expression of determination on his face. “Yus,” he pronounced clearly.

Newt smiled at him brightly. “That’s the spirit. One step at a time.” 

His words could just as easily apply to their daunting task tomorrow. They would just have to proceed as best they could, moment by moment.

They climbed the stairs in careful silence, Graves moving his unfamiliar limbs with rusty slowness, but at least they made it up to the top without tripping. Outside Credence’s bedroom, they all paused.

“Er,” Newt said awkwardly. “So, would you… erm. Commander Graves, sir, I can get you a room of your own, or would you be more comfortable…” 

He trailed off when Graves glanced longingly at Credence’s bed, and then at Credence himself. 

“Oh, I see, yes,” Newt said, nodding. “You’ve been sleeping here together already, it’s only natural you’d want to stay close.” He swallowed, fidgeting. “Completely understandable. If I were you, I’d want to sleep with Credence, too.” There was a moment’s pause, and then Newt turned bright pink. “I mean. For comfort,” he added hurriedly. 

Credence tentatively squeezed Graves’ hand. He’d never slept with another person before, but Graves was still Grimm, no matter what he looked like. And it did sound comforting to feel close to him while he was sleeping.

Newt scuffed his shoe against the floor, inching reluctantly toward the other end of the hall, toward the staircase leading to the topmost floor and his own bedroom. “Well,” the wizard said softly. “I’ll… see you both in the morning. I hope you can get some rest, feel more healed tomorrow.” But Credence noticed his eyes lingering wistfully, his steps slow and dragging.

Oh.

_Oh!_

“No, wait,” Credence said impulsively. “It’s actually… the bed should be big enough for all three of us, really. Or we can make it wider, I’m sure. Newt, you probably shouldn’t climb any extra stairs while you’re injured, and I’m not sure how solid the roof is over your bedroom right now, since I smashed all those tiles off. Why don’t you stay here with us?” 

His justification was a little bit on the flimsy side, but he had a feeling none of them cared.

“Ah!” the wizard breathed, hurrying back over. “Yes, that is a good point, very sensible. I appreciate you thinking of that, darling, it doesn’t hurt to be cautious. If you’re sure you don’t mind the company, I’d… I would certainly like to stay with you tonight. If that’s… alright.”

It was more than alright. Credence beamed at Newt, gently taking hold of his hand. “Of course,” he murmured. “I think it’ll be twice as nice.” He tugged both Graves and Newt behind him into the bedroom. “I'd like to be close to both of you.” 

Newt smiled, hesitant and beautiful, and Graves looked between the two of them with a look of sleek satisfaction not unlike the one he used to wear when Credence pet his ears.

Getting ready for bed took only a few moments. They were all too tired to waste time with decorum when the soft pillows on the bed were beckoning. Credence didn’t bother with covering himself when he undressed, gingerly easing himself into a clean nightshirt and keeping his sore shoulder as stationary as possible. The second dose of potion, when he downed it, warmed him from within and filled his mouth with the taste of cinnamon. As he settled himself carefully on the bed, he felt the last of the chill from the river flee from his bones, chased away by the molten heat sinking into his stomach and gushing out of his ears in a burst of steam. Graves, busy spooning himself against Credence’s back, got a face full of vapor and sneezed.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Credence whispered, rolling over to wipe the moisture off of the man’s face. “I forgot to warn you that was going to happen. Just like before, huh?”

The Commander grinned at him and pressed an unexpected soft kiss against his fingertips, wrapping an arm around his waist. “Yes,” the man said carefully. He rubbed his thumb against the thin cotton covering Credence’s hip. “Just like befur.”

Newt was watching them, dressed in one of Credence’s nightshirts, a soft look of amusement in his eyes. “That was quite good,” he said. “Nice enunciation.”

“Newt,” Graves whispered experimentally, then cleared his throat. “Credanse.”

“Very nice,” Credence replied sleepily. “I’ve never thought about it really, but those vowels take a lot of refined differentiation. A lot of control.” He stifled a yawn in the pillow. 

Newt clambered onto the mattress next to Credence, nodding in agreement. “Absolutely. We have so many different articulator muscles that all have to work together in delicate precision. Very different maxillofacial anatomy than wolves, it makes sense that the transition would be difficult.” He reached over and patted Graves’ shoulder. “But you’ll get used to this mouth again in no time.”

Newt didn’t bother retracting his arm, and it lay there across Credence’s torso, his hand resting on Graves’ bicep. It felt awfully nice to be sandwiched between them, all three pressed shyly together. Their top quilt was still downstairs, discarded on the couch, but Graves was like a furnace against Credence’s back, radiating body heat. 

“We’ll work on talking some more tomorrow, huh?” Credence murmured, his body soft and drowsy.

“Okay.” Graves whispered. He leaned closer and pressed a kiss against Credence’s forehead, drawing the covers gently up over all three of them. The gesture was familiar, in spite of all that had changed. Credence relaxed into the bed, allowing the feeling of being warm and safe to melt away his cold fear at the prospect of tomorrow. 

He dreaded going back to the palace, facing Grindelwald again. But they had to try, now that they knew what was truly at stake. All of this was worth fighting for; the kingdom, the Queen, the city, all of it was worth protecting, for the sake of the people who lived in it. For everyone who depended on the peaceful life it offered, magical and non-magical alike. For the vendors in the market and the kids playing hopscotch by the fountain. 

For his _sisters_. Credence didn’t take kindly to arrogant deathless madmen trying to enslave his sisters.

Grindelwald had gone too far. He was a monster, and he couldn’t be allowed to get away with this. He had stolen too much already, stolen power that wasn’t his, stolen happiness and stolen lives, including Credence’s parents’. And now he had tried to hurt Newt, had already hurt Graves. _And_ he wanted to take over the kingdom and execute innocent people?

No, the Wizard of the Waste needed to be stopped. Tomorrow, his evil would end; they were going to make sure of it. Credence closed his eyes, full of determination and hope, focused on replenishing his energy for the following day, preparing his mind for the uncertain task that lay ahead. Whatever it was, he had a feeling he would need all the mental strength he could get. 

Beside him, Newt had dropped off into slumber, snoring quietly, his eyelashes casting feathery shadows on his relaxed face, skin pale in the moonlight. Graves’ arm was heavy and comfortable on Credence’s waist, warm breath ruffling his hair. 

Lulled by the sound of both of them breathing, Credence fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg, y'all I'm so freakin excited for the rest of this story. It is in _rough_ shape right now, though, my draft of the next few chapters is going to need some heavy duty polishing because I wrote it a long time ago and in a hurry. But I'm going to be working furiously on making it better (and quickly), because I can't wait to share it with you!!!!
> 
> Thank you so much for your comments and kudos and enthusiasm, it was so much fun for me to read all your reactions to the ending of the last chapter!!!!!!!!! ;D ♥


	12. Back to the Palace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely readers, sorry this chapter took so long to show up... it's taking me a while to edit the rest of the story because I keep re-working the sequence of events in these climactic chapters so they make more sense. And then I end up with a bunch of new exciting ideas to add in, and I experiment with different ways the battle could unfold, and then I change it all up to make it better and I have to revise all over again. (Omg, so hard! but fun! Action scenes are definitely not my strong suit ;P But practice is good)
> 
> Just a heads up, I have some intentional typos in Percival's dialogue. I hope it's not too distracting. It's just meant to be a subtle way to show him getting used to talking again.

Credence’s dreams that night were dim and full of mirrors. He was in a large unfamiliar space with a tall ceiling, lit by sconces on the walls flickering with orange fire. Beyond the reach of the light, the room was thick with rustling shadows and a lurking presence of danger. He could see his own frightened face reflected back on walls of polished glass, could see Graves close by, warm and steady, trying to protect him. Credence pressed closer to him, worried. Where was Newt?

Credence stumbled and tripped over something on the floor; a heavy urn, engraved with leaves. It fell sideways, spilling water out all over the floor, pooling on the marble tile, and the shadows multiplied around him in a disorienting blur of shapes. And then _Graves_ multiplied, replicated like beads of glass in a kaleidoscope. He was everywhere, his broad-shouldered figure appearing in an endless self-perpetuating corridor of mirrors. There were two of him stepping closer to Credence, both reaching for him in concern, filling his field of vision. Two identical pairs of gentle hands, two sets of sincere brown eyes. But which one was real and which was the illusion from the mirror? They moved symmetrically across from each other, perfectly synchronized.

The flames in the sconces rippled, singing in a curling undertone. _Light up the dark,_ the torches murmured. _Burning spark._

The two Graveses loomed over Credence, leaning nearer, squeezing his shoulders, one on each side. He imagined he could feel them both, equal pressure, smooth and reassuring. His eyes flicked anxiously back and forth between them, looking for any sign of difference.

 _Severed pieces that he took,_ the fire whispered quietly.

The men smiled at him, and he felt even more confused. Two matching affectionate grins, teeth slightly pointy.

 _What do you see when you don’t try to look?_

Credence’s dream swirled as he allowed his eyelids to flutter shut. There were still hands on both of his shoulders, warm loyal hands. He reached up, wrapping his fingers around those strong wrists, dragging his fingertips up each arm, skating over cloth and muscle.

His questing touch landed both of his palms on one broad, solid chest, directly in front of him.

Mystified, Credence glanced up again. 

The two Graveses were overlapping each other, semi-transparent, sliding together like a mirage and solidifying into one figure. The mirrors were suddenly fading from view, the reflections vanishing, leaving Credence standing there clutching the real Graves’ coat and staring into his dark patient eyes. The man looked back at Credence with hope and worry, his face tired and pale.

 _Get ready,_ Graves said. _I have a feeling that’s only the beginning._

The dream was getting darker, a sibilant hissing noise sounding from all around them.

Credence pressed himself closer, clinging to the solid comfort of Graves’ body. The man held him tightly, frowning up at the ceiling above them, distant and dark, velvety like the night sky but roiling with hooded shadows. The blackness seemed to be coming from all directions, hungry and cold, sneaking along and snuffing out the torches on the walls. 

And then, in a ravenous surge, the shadows abruptly reached out and engulfed them both, numbingly icy, choking their way into Credence’s lungs. He was lost in a black miasma, letting go of Graves’ coat to flail at the air in an instinctive attempt to ward off the smoke. But it was useless. The darkness surrounding him was complete, and his chilled fingers found nothing to fight against. He reached out, trembling, to feel for Graves again, blindly scrabbling in the empty air, but the man was gone, stolen from him by the shadows.

“No!” he gasped. He didn’t want to be alone.

He was sinking into the dark, disoriented and afraid. Drowning. He thrashed, calling out for Graves and Newt, rasping for breath, flailing arms reaching for something to hang on to. Despair threatened to smother him, pressing heavily on his chest.

“Darling!” someone called faintly, as if from a great distance. “Credence, sweetheart, wake up!”

Slowly, he became aware that his desperately clutching fingers had caught hold of something. There was someone’s hand, squeezing his, another warm palm stroking the hair off his forehead.

“Credense.” That sounded like Graves, his voice thick with sleep, pronunciation just slightly off. “We’rr right here.”

The aching cold began to fade, the dream releasing its claw-like grip on Credence’s sleeping mind. He was under a blanket, and someone was cupping his face.

“Love, come back to us,” Newt murmured, while another pair of lips brushed against his forehead, his temple.

“Nnh,” Credence groaned. He forced himself back to awareness in a wrenching surge of willpower, the mental equivalent of dumping a pitcher of water over his head. 

“That’s it, darling. We’ve got you, we haven’t gone anywhere.” 

His eyes flew open. 

Newt’s face was pale in the moonlight, a pink pillow-crease imprinted endearingly on his cheek. Pickett chirped softly from Credence’s desk, his leafy form just visible, snuggled in a small nest of handkerchiefs with Annabelle’s cocoon. “Are you alright?” Newt asked.

On his other side, Graves pulled back from nuzzling Credence’s hair to look at him with soft worried eyes.

“Oh,” Credence croaked. With effort, he swallowed past the thick lump of panic lingering in his throat. “Just a dream. I’m fine.” His rapid heartbeat was gradually slowing down, his sweating palm squeezing Newt’s hand.

Newt cuddled closer, squeezing his fingers in return. “You were calling out for us, love,” he whispered. “Did you dream that we’d disappeared?”

Credence nodded, his head heavy with faded adrenaline. “I panicked,” he rasped. “There were shadows everywhere, and a room full of mirrors, and I couldn’t see either one of you.” Shyly, he pulled their joined hands up to his chest, Newt’s knuckles pressed against his nightshirt. He rolled onto his side to bury his face in Graves’ shoulder, feeling vulnerable. He wanted to be protected, cossetted.

They both obliged him without hesitation, without even needing to be asked. Newt shifted closer, sandwiching Credence firmly between them, spooning himself tight against his back while Graves remained a wall of heat at his front. Credence hid himself in the safe humid space in the crook of the wolf-man’s neck, inhaling the familiar scent of herbal soap and a faint whiff of pine smoke from the fireplace. He felt Graves’ arm settle itself across his waist, his hand resting on Newt’s hip.

“That’s better,” Newt murmured, his breath warm against the nape of Credence’s neck. “Don’t worry, we’re not going anywhere, love.” His lips brushed against Credence’s ear, making his scalp tingle.

“Okay,” Credence said thickly, his body melting into the mattress, voice muffled into Graves’ skin. “What time is it?”

“Not dawn yet,” the Commander replied. The words vibrated in a pleasant low rumble against Credence’s face. “Stull a few hours to go.”

“That’s right,” Newt whispered soothingly. “You should sleep more, if you can.”

It was very comfortable to be tucked so close, wrapped in two layers of strong arms.

“Mm hm,” Credence slurred, feeling himself slipping back toward the buttery silence of unconsciousness.

The room was quiet and still, full of slow breathing. 

And a moment later, he was asleep, deep and peaceful with no more dreams.

 

Credence woke in the morning to the clink of dishes sounding from the kitchen below, the bedroom still dark and cool in the misty pre-dawn. For a shuffling sleepy moment, he was very confused.

Who was making breakfast so early? He thought he could hear Grimm somewhere very close to him, snoring quietly, heating the blankets like a furry furnace. Was Newt downstairs already, getting an early start? Today would be another day of magic lessons, presumably, practicing potions with Mira and riding the broom over the habitats and making dinner in the warm kitchen.

Credence shifted slightly under the covers, finding them oddly heavier than usual. _OH!_ With a lurch, his lethargic mind abruptly caught up to reality. There were two pairs of human arms tangled around him, not fur and wolf breath and a wet nose. 

_Right._

This was not a normal day. Everything came rushing back; the palace, the arrest, the storm, the river. The curse on Graves...

Credence’s cheeks grew hot.

Graves, who was now human, who had human lips for kissing, human _hands_ for… other things. Warm hands, one of which was currently cupping Credence’s thigh through the thin material of his long nightshirt, and… and he was… well, there were some very muscular legs tangled with both of his, and a whole lot of dense manly torso under his cheek. Credence blinked groggily in the dim light, his blush deepening as he realized he was splayed shamelessly across Graves’ broad chest, using him as a pillow. Oh, goodness, and the man’s borrowed bathrobe had fallen open during the night, exposing tanned skin and dark hair, all of which Credence was pressed right on top of. There was another warm weight against his back, Newt’s soft breathing sounding in his ear, and one of his arms was still wrapped around Credence’s waist. The wizard was sprawled across him, heavy and relaxed, like a human blanket.

Oh, gosh.

Credence was rather stuck, in fact. He gulped, not sure how to extract himself. Not sure if he wanted to. He was still pleasurably trapped there, biting his lip in indecision, when he heard the creak of footsteps followed by Tina poking her head in the door.

“Breakfast, fellas. Time to get up,” she said quickly, looking harried. If she was surprised to see all three of them in bed together, she hid it well. Just a momentary widening of the eyes, and then she was moving on to business. “We’ve got plans to go over. And Credence, I’ve got a salve I want you to put on your shoulder.”

“Alright,” Credence said, instantly feeling the prick of dread and anticipation. _Plans_. Yes. How to sneak into the palace, fight Grindelwald, save the Queen.

Newt stirred, still mostly asleep, squeezing Credence tighter. “M’coming, Ariel,” he muttered vaguely into Credence’s hair. “Don’t start the paper hats without me. Everyone gets a hat, except the tadpoles.”

Tina’s expression softened slightly. “Newt,” she said pointedly. “Newt, wake up.”

“Hmm?” The wizard yawned, curling his leg around Credence’s hip and making a soft cozy noise as he shifted under the blanket. There was a pause, and then he stiffened slightly. “Oh,” he said. “Oh, er. Hullo, Tina. Could you… just give us a minute?”

She flashed him a tired smile. “Meet me downstairs in five,” she said.

The door shut again with a quiet snick.

Newt let out a deep sigh that ruffled Credence’s hair. “Morning, love,” he said quietly. “You manage to get some sleep?”

“Uh huh,” Credence whispered shyly. Graves seemed to be waking up beneath him, his torso shifting in a stretch, dislodging Credence from his pillow. Credence turned his head, rolling over, still tangled with Newt, and found himself staring into the wizard’s sleepy green eyes. 

“That’s good,” Newt breathed. They were nose to nose, lips just a few centimeters apart. Newt cupped his face in one gentle hand, watching him carefully. “Darling…” he murmured, a wordless question in his eyes.

Credence clung to him, nudging their foreheads together in answer, and Newt took the invitation to press a chaste kiss to his mouth, brief and sweet, his thumb tracing over Credence’s jaw. His lips were warm and soft, one long leg still curled around Credence’s hip, eyelashes brushing lightly against his cheek.

The mattress jostled as Graves propped himself up on one elbow and rolled closer, looking down at them in focused curiosity. His hair was rumpled, dark strands falling loose over his forehead, and Credence couldn’t help but reach up and smooth it out of his eyes.

“Morning,” Graves said carefully, glancing between the two of them.

“Good morning, Commander,” Newt said tentatively, his cheeks pink. Credence was feeling a little over-warm as well. Graves’ robe was still gaping open, and his naked chest was very distracting.

“Please,” the man said, inching a bit nearer, eyes lingering on Newt’s lips. “No nid to be formal. Call me Percival. Buth of you.” His speech was clearer today, though some of his vowels still dragged unusually against his mouth, almost like an accent. A wolf accent, Credence thought with a giggle.

“Alright,” Newt replied, a bashful smile catching at the corners of his mouth. “Percival.”

Credence couldn’t hold in a grin of his own. “Your enunciation just keeps getting better,” he told the wolf-man fondly, dragging his fingers through his hair, automatically scratching his nails over his scalp, behind his ear. The Commander’s eyes went heavy-lidded with contentment. “I’d say your lips and tongue are fast learners,” Credence murmured, feeling bold. 

Percival was pressed against his side, firm and solid. The man leaned down, guided by Credence’s hand in his hair, nuzzling his cheek. Heart pounding, Credence glanced at Newt, who was watching them both with rapt attention, still flushed.

“True,” Newt breathed. “Your mouth is very… erm. Very skillful.”

For a quiet moment, Credence and Newt looked at each other heatedly, a silent conference. And then Percival was kissing Credence’s jaw, and Credence turned his head to align their lips, and everything felt so perfect he couldn’t think. The man’s lips were smooth and firm, and his kiss was very enthusiastic.

“Mm!” Credence moaned.

It was lovely, warm lips with a tiny flick of tongue and a gentle nip of sharp teeth.

“Oh, my,” Newt whispered. 

They broke apart, and Percival looked over at the wizard, mouth pink and shiny. Newt’s flush deepened. Was he… was Credence reading the signals right? With deliberate slowness, Credence reached up and smoothed his thumb over Percival’s bottom lip, watching Newt’s eyes follow the motion. The wolf-man’s attention flicked between Credence and Newt, his expression hopeful, but he remained frozen, uncertain. He seemed to be waiting for Newt’s permission.

And Newt was looking at Credence, his ears hot, opening his mouth helplessly. “Darling, is this really…? Are we all okay with, er…sharing?” He peeked at Percival again from under his curly fringe, bashful but eager.

“I am,” Credence said, blushing at his own daring. “If you… I mean, if you both want to.”

Newt’s flush had worked its way down his neck, and his eyes were dark and intense. “Alright, then.” 

Percival lay there patiently while Newt struggled up onto his elbow, both of them staring at each other in shy affection. And then Newt cupped the back of Percival’s head tenderly with his hand and pressed their lips together. Credence watched, spellbound, as they kissed across him.

“Mmm.” Percival made a rumbling noise in his chest when Newt bit softly at his lip and then licked at it in a brief flash of pink. In retaliation, the wolf-man turned his head and opened his mouth wider, doing something with his tongue that made Newt whimper and Credence burn with curiosity. Why did they have their mouths open like that? He’d never seen anyone kiss that way before, but it did look enjoyable.

He might’ve asked them to show him how to do it next, had there not been a sharp rap at the door.

“Hey!” Tina’s voice sounded from the hallway. “Queenie says you’ve gotten distracted! Don’t forget, we’re on the clock here!”

With a gasp, Newt and Percival parted, breathing hard, Newt looking a bit sheepish. “Sorry!” he croaked. “We’ll be down in a second!”

 

The time for kissing seemed to have passed, with the solemn reminder of what was to come. The three of them hurriedly washed their faces in the sink and got dressed, Newt coaxing Pickett and Annabelle back into his pockets. Pickett took some convincing; he had discovered the lump of petrified wood on Credence’s desk and was poking at it in fascination, reluctant to leave.

Across the room, Percival was frowning, trying to summon a pair of socks out of Credence’s dresser. He shook his wrist, staring in consternation at his hand.

“Damn magic isn’t working,” the man grumbled. “I should be able to do this withut my wand.”

Quietly, Credence padded over and fetched him a pair of socks, brushing a hand over his arm. “Maybe it just needs time,” he said. “Don’t worry. I’m sure it’ll come back.”

The Commander gave him a brief smile, his eyes slightly worried. “Let’s hope so,” he murmured.

Credence watched Percival in concern out of the corner of his eye as the man continued to get dressed. He’d pulled the socks up his calves and was now sliding a pair of Newt’s work trousers over his muscular thighs. It was a tight fit; the fabric clung to Percival’s legs, cupping the firm, athletic shape of his rear in a very eye-catching manner.

“Ah,” Newt said, face pink, meeting Credence’s gaze. “Those look… a bit snug. But as long as you can move comfortably…”

He trailed off, flush deepening, as Percival, still shirtless, did a set of experimental squats and lunges, testing the supple stretch of the material.

“Yus, they are fine,” the Commander said seriously.

“Right,” the wizard breathed, a little winded. He searched out Credence’s hand and squeezed it, possibly for strength. “Good, excellent. And your balance and agility seem to have improved. That’s… good. Merlin’s beard.”

Credence, similarly overwhelmed, stood there tongue-tied.

Percival looked at them over his shoulder, eyebrows rising in surprise, a ghost of a smirk playing around the edge of his mouth.

By the time they emerged to descend the stairs, all three of them were reasonably presentable. Percival had donned one of Credence’s shirts that Newt had altered with a slight enlargement charm on the seams around the shoulders, and he’d tucked his borrowed trousers into Credence’s spare pair of boots. The Commander had no trouble walking on the flat floor of the hallway unaided, but going down the stairs proved slightly tricky. 

Or, well, _very_ tricky. Percival made a noise of frustration the third time he overbalanced and nearly tipped forward and fell down the stairs, saved by Credence and Newt clinging to his arms. “I don’t know why thissus so hard,” he grumbled. “I can’t seem to step down withut going too far.”

“Probably because you’re used to going headfirst,” Newt said reasonably. “It’s a big difference from four legs to two, and stairs are more difficult than regular walking. These are steep, and your vision and depth perception might still be adjusting. Perhaps, in the meantime, we ought to try this.” He was holding out Credence’s old rowan walking stick. 

Reluctantly, Percival took it, looking discouraged. “I suppose,” he said.

“Just, you know, for a little while, until you don’t need it anymore,” Credence said, squeezing the man’s hand. “And you can always lean on us, too.”

This earned him a soft smile. “Alright.” Wobbling slightly, Percival gripped the walking stick.

They made it downstairs without further incident, entering the kitchen to find Queenie directing a pitcher to pour several glasses of pumpkin juice while Jacob busily set breakfast on the table.

“There you are, sleepyheads!” Jacob’s grin was bright with determined cheerfulness, though he looked tired and worried too. The lamps in the room were still lit from the night before, and the sky outside was a deep purple-grey with a rim of pale pink just beginning to show along the horizon. “Hungry?”

To be honest, Credence didn’t have much of an appetite, but he knew he needed to keep his strength up.

“Come on over, honey,” Queenie said, ushering Credence into a seat next to Tina, who was munching on toast and poring over several sheets of hand-drawn diagrams. “Eat a little bit, at least.”

Breakfast was a quiet affair, all of them slightly tense. Percival was having a bit of trouble with his fork, and had resorted to spooning his eggs and potatoes onto his toast to eat carefully as a sandwich. Queenie and Tina’s heads were bent together in hushed conversation, and Newt was perched next Credence, sipping his tea and clutching Credence’s hand under the table. Jacob was sitting across from them, refilling everyone’s plates and trying to look positive.

“More eggs, Credence?” Jacob asked.

But Credence didn’t think he could stomach anything more. He could feel his heart beginning to flutter with anxiety, his body fizzing with the acidic snap of panic. As the minutes ticked by and the light got brighter outside the window, he couldn’t help but think about how dangerous this all was and what might happen to them if they failed.

What hope did they have? They had two highly skilled witches, sure, and two trained wizards. But both Percival and Newt were without their wands, and Percival’s wandless magic didn’t seem to be working yet. And then there was Credence, still only a novice. The five of them… against an entire palace full of soldiers and an ancient madman with far more power than he ought to have.

It didn’t look like very good odds. 

“I’ll go in first,” Tina was saying to her sister, “see if I can preface the reveal of Commander Graves with some explanation of what’s going on, so Her Majesty’s not so likely to stun us immediately.”

“Or,” Queenie countered, “you’ll just be giving her more time to call the guards. Better to all show up at once, so the evidence is clear from the beginning. Put Graves right in her face, so it’s clear that the one in the palace is an imposter.”

“I don’t know,” Tina replied. “She’s so tense lately, and she’s got an itchy wand hand. I’d hate to risk it. And what if Grindelwald’s got her under the imperius curse? She might attack no matter what. At least if she knocks me out, you all can keep trying. What do you think, Newt?”

“I’m not sure,” the wizard said, furrowing his brow. “Seraphina didn’t seem to be imperiused, just very tired and overwhelmed. Of course, he could be manipulating her with suggestion charms, but I think if she were under imperius she’d have shown less emotion and sincerity. It’s hard to seem genuine when you’ve been made into a puppet, a mouthpiece for someone else.”

Credence shivered. What an awful idea, to be forced to act without any free will, to live each day as a helpless pawn under someone else’s command. It stirred up a bitter prickle of memory, a familiar ghost of the past.

He swallowed, distracting himself by clutching Newt’s hand a little tighter.

“All the same,” Tina said. “I’d feel better going in first on my own, in order to give her the chance to compose herself before the entire crowd comes in. She might be sleeping, she might be… unclothed.” Tina was blushing. “This is her bedroom, and we’re going to be disturbing her privacy, and I’d like to be as respectful as possible about it, even in the midst of all this urgency.”

Queenie gave her a soft look. “Okay,” she conceded. “Alright, I can understand that. You’ll go in and talk to her, and we’ll wait for your signal. And hope like heck that she believes us, and that Grindelwald’s not in there with her when we arrive.”

Jacob gulped, and Queenie immediately turned to him.

“But that’s not likely, honey, don’t worry,” she said soothingly. The man was looking a little pale under his brave face. “Oh, hey, it’s gonna be alright. Sweetie, you know I can handle myself.” She rested her hand on his arm. “I’m always careful,” she murmured. “I’m gonna make sure to come back to you.” She reached up and stroked a curl of his dark hair back from his face. “It might take a while, though, you know. And just in case I’m delayed… if you start seeing any trouble…”

He nodded, taking a deep breath. “If there’s a threat to the city, Ariel and I will move the castle closer and offer shelter to as many people as we can, help with the evacuation,” Jacob promised. “And we’ll make sure to find Credence’s sisters. They can hole up with Mira in the habitat room under all the protection wards.”

Queenie smiled, and Credence’s throat went a bit tight. “They’ll be very safe there, honey,” she said, blue eyes drifting in Credence’s direction.

“Thank you,” he croaked.

“Of course,” Jacob replied. “What were their names again? Charity? And…?”

“Chastity,” Percival corrected out of nowhere, and Credence’s heart abruptly clenched with emotion. “And… Modusty. _Mod_ … Modesty, the youngest.”

“Hey, that was real good!” Jacob said kindly. “You’re getting better at those vowels.”

Credence met Percival’s eyes across the table for a moment, feeling raw and squeezed inside. “Modesty is Mira’s age,” he explained hoarsely. “She’s got blonde hair, usually in braids. And Chastity is sixteen, with red hair. They’re both… small and pale.” And underfed, and quiet.

“Alright, got it,” Jacob answered. “We’ll find them, Credence, if anything happens to the city.”

“Which it won’t,” Tina said stubbornly. “Not if we can help it.”

Credence nodded, mustering up a small smile.

“Now, has everyone finished eating?” Tina asked. “Dawn will be breaking soon, we need to finish our last bits of preparation.”

 

Fifteen minutes later, they were all gathered on the hearth rug, and Credence felt as if he’d swallowed something very squirmy. Time was flashing past far too quickly, blurring like a wet painting splashed with water.

Tina had massaged Credence’s injured shoulder with a salve that helped his sore muscles relax and Queenie had woven protective spells into the fabric of all of their coats. Newt, looking worried, had tucked a sprig of rosemary into Credence’s pocket.

“Darling,” the wizard whispered, voice tight and agonized. “I hate that I’m bringing you into danger again. You know, you… you could stay here with Ariel and Jacob, be _safe_.”

But Credence immediately shook his head. For all that he was afraid, staying behind was not an option. “I’m going with you,” he said firmly. “I have to be there, to watch your back,” he replied, “just like I know you’ll be watching mine.”

Newt let out a wretched little laugh. “You are terribly sweet and incredibly brave. But I don’t even have a wand,” he said hollowly.

“Well, neither do I,” Credence replied, squeezing Newt’s fingers. “So we’ll just have to stay out of trouble, and let those two very formidable ladies do most of the fighting.”

“I like the sound of that plan,” interrupted Tina with a sharp smile. “Alright, everyone put your hand in, I’m activating the portkey.”

Percival pressed in close on Credence’s other side, his face set into a focused mask of determination. Queenie had her wand drawn, her face pale. They all reached out and clutched one of Credence’s old boots, the one with the hole in the heel. Ariel was watching grimly from her canvas, wearing a small frown of worry.

“Don’t forget,” Tina murmured, “hold on tight, and don’t let go until your feet are on solid ground again. Let’s hope they haven’t changed the wards since yesterday, or my override might not work and we may end up bouncing right back here again.”

Oh, lord, what would they do then? Credence swallowed, the squirming in his stomach intensifying. Percival put a warm hand on his back, rubbing up his spine through the material of his coat, almost as if he could feel Credence panicking.

They stood there for another moment staring at the boot in anticipation, and Credence had just enough time to wonder whether Tina had done the spell correctly before the boot glowed suddenly blue. With a whoosh of sound, the world dissolved around them in a strange melting swirl, Jacob’s face and the interior of the castle whisking itself away as they all spun through a confused tunnel of color and noise. Credence’s knuckles turned white as he gripped the leather of the boot, his stomach roiling.

And then, with a jarring thud, they landed on a solid surface again, Credence’s head still spinning. He staggered a little, and Percival caught him, steadying him against his chest. Newt looked a bit queasy, but Tina and Queenie straightened up immediately and began marching toward the far end of the palace roof, where a dizzying view of the city below spread out before them, painted in smudged grey shadow and pale early light.

“Alright,” Tina said briskly, while Credence tried to catch his breath. “Wait five minutes, then follow me in. If I send red sparks out the window, take the portkey and go back to the castle. Yellow sparks, have your wands out, proceed with caution. Green sparks, five minutes have passed, hurry up, it’s safe.”

They all nodded at her, and she trotted fearlessly to the edge of the roof, flicking her wand and conjuring a metal ladder that climbed straight down the side of the building. The wind whipped at her dark hair and tossed the bronze tassels of her guard uniform as she carefully stepped down, her booted feet disappearing below. Soon, she had vanished entirely. 

They were left standing in silence, watching as rosy-pink dawn crept slowly over the tops of the hills, with nothing to do but fidget and hope for the best. 

Good lord, waiting was the worst.

“Have you decided what you’re going to say to the Queen?” Credence said softly to Percival, trying to distract himself from the lingering dizziness of the portkey. “Might be helpful to practice.”

“Good idea,” the man replied. “What do you think I shod say?”

Credence bit his lip, glancing at Newt. “How about… ‘I am Commander Graves, Grindelwald stole my face’? Pretty much sums it up, don’t you think?” he asked.

Newt nodded, flashing him a fragile smile.

Percival inclined his head, squaring his shoulders. “I am Commander Graves. Grundelwald stole my phase.” He frowned, cleared his throat. “Grundel… _Grindelwald_ stole my phase. My _faze_ …” He winced. “Fassse. Face. Grindelwald stole my face.”

“There you go!” Credence cheered quietly.

“I am the real Commander Graves. Grindelwald stole my face, the wanker.” Percival glanced at Newt with a sly hint of a pointy grin. 

Newt managed a fuller smile this time, especially when Pickett poked his head out of the wizard’s pocket to add his own tiny squeaking insult.

“Oh, yes,” Credence giggled. “I think we all agree with you there.”

And then the misty silence was broken by a popping sound in the air. Yellow sparks. There were yellow sparks fizzing outside the window.

“Come on, come on,” Queenie hissed, rushing over to the ladder. She climbed down first, not even hesitating at the sight of the dizzying drop below the conjured rungs, clambering through a window that opened several feet below.

Oh, dear. Credence swallowed hard past the hammering of his heart in his throat, watching Newt follow behind as fast as he could. What if Tina was in danger? What if they were walking into a trap? 

What if that ladder _disappeared_ back into the nothing it had been conjured from?

Percival was swinging one leg over the edge of the roof, his booted feet slightly clumsy on the first rung of the ladder, his walking stick tucked tightly under one arm. Oh, God. 

“Be careful,” Credence whispered, his chest feeling painfully tight.

Percival waved him closer, then stepped down another few rungs. “I wull spot you, Credence. Climb on.”

Well. That was awfully considerate, though it didn’t exactly make him any less anxious. Credence hunched himself instinctively down as he neared the edge of the roof, scooting over to the ladder on all fours and clutching it with hands that shook slightly. He managed to clamber down the first rung, Percival’s reassuring bulk below him, the man’s strong fingers gripping the sides, and then somehow he descended another, and another, until he could see the window, Newt’s anxious face peeking out.

There were raised voices inside, and the sound of footsteps, but nobody seemed to be firing spells at each other at least. Credence’s heart nearly fell out of his chest when Percival handed his walking stick to Newt and then swung himself toward the window, brave and heroic and _still getting used to human coordination_ , oh God... but he made it, jaw clenched in determination, grasping hold of the window frame with one strong arm while Newt firmly clasped the other. Once Percival was inside, they both held out a hand for Credence.

“Oh, thank you,” Credence said faintly, his fingers going numb with how tightly he was clutching the ladder. Trying desperately not to look down, he made a valiant effort to breathe. “Okay.” He gulped, forcing one of his hands to unpeel itself from its death grip on the metal and reaching out to clasp Percival’s warm palm instead. Scraping deep into the well of his courage, he swung his weight across the small gap between the ladder and the window, throwing one leg over the sill. Then Newt’s arm was around his waist, snug and secure, and with a soft cry of relief Credence slid the rest of the way inside.

Past the fluttering curtain, there was a scene of frozen tension.

They were in a grand bedroom with a handsome four-poster bed, its headboard patterned with carved eagles and its hangings rich midnight blue silk. At the other end of the large room was a glossy dark wood desk covered in a mess of papers and maps, along with a smattering of quill pens and an engraved urn. A familiar owl was roosting on a carved perch near an embroidered armchair, surrounded by walls lined with bookshelves and various decorative trinkets. And in the midst of the clutter was the Queen herself, looking as if she’d been startled out of her desk chair, wrapped in a dressing gown with her hair under a turban, frowning at Tina.

“…if you would just listen, you’ve got an imposter in your midst,” Tina was saying passionately, while Her Majesty raised an eyebrow. 

“An imposter?” Seraphina repeated, heavy with doubt. She glanced over her shoulder toward the hallway door, where two anxious-looking guardswomen stood dutifully in the opening, wands out, ready to defend her. They didn’t have much to do at the moment, though; Tina looked as if she’d already been disarmed by the Queen. Her wand was on the ground and she was wrapped from neck to wrists in a tightly wound length of rope, not that it seemed to bother her. It certainly wasn’t stopping her from arguing with Her Majesty. 

“You know I’m not one to spin tales or bother you with gossip. I swear it’s true, we have proof,” Tina insisted.

“I should hope you do, for your own sake,” Seraphina replied sharply. “You can’t possibly think you can just sneak into my bedroom and expect me to believe you without evidence, after you _broke my trust_ to get Scamander out,” she said, deeply unhappy. “Tina, why would you do that? I don’t care what story that wizard’s fed you or what nonsense feud you have going with Graves, I needed Scamander to be questioned, and you impeded my orders. You ignored my wishes and you betrayed me.”

On a less regal woman, the expression on her face might’ve been classified as a pout.

Tina took a step closer, her voice softening. “I know you ordered Newt to be questioned, but did you order him to be _executed,_ ma’am?” she asked quietly. “Because that’s what Graves was about to do. That’s the only reason I interfered, I swear. But you’re missing the more important part of what I’m saying.” She spoke hurriedly, fervently, her eyes fixed on the Queen’s face. “ _That was not Graves._ ”

Her Majesty looked skeptical. “Right, as you’ve said. You believe my Commander to have been replaced. You think that one of the most powerful and most capable wizards in the kingdom, Percival Graves, could’ve been bested in a fight, despite his unequaled prowess as a duelist.”

From beside Credence, Percival let out a wordless noise of regret and frustration, his mouth set in a tight grimace. Credence brushed a hand against his arm in sympathy, and Seraphina’s gaze snapped over to where the three of them stood by the open window, her eyes widening.

“Yes,” Tina said fervently. “Yes, he was. But not because of any shortcoming on his part. The Wizard of the Waste is not an adversary who plays by any earthly rules. He’s stolen far more power than anyone has a right to, and he will stop at nothing to get what he wants. And now he is on the brink of destroying us all.”

Her Majesty gaped for a moment, and then her wand was trained on Percival faster than any of them could react. “ _Revelio_ ,” she murmured, casting the spell straight at his face.

The man just watched her calmly, his eyes solemn. There was a long moment of silence, all of them waiting for a result that wasn’t going to come. 

“Seraphina,” Percival said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

She looked at him intently, her expression rapidly turning to dismay. “Percival?” she breathed. Then her face clouded again. “Tina, if this is some sort of trick…”

“It isn’t,” Tina said fervently. “Your Majesty, I swear on my honor and love for this kingdom, my love for this city, for _you_ , this is no trick.”

The Queen looked taken aback for a moment, and then, slowly, she stared at Percival again. 

“It’s me,” the man said softly. “Grindelwald caught me on the way back from Fornolt.”

“Fornolt?” Her Majesty asked sharply. “You mean, the diplomatic mission last… last _winter_?”

He swallowed, squaring his shoulders. “Yes. I’ve been unabb… un… unible.” He frowned. “Unable to return until now. My apologies.”

“Unable to…” Her face seemed to crumple. There were lines of grief and stress etched around her mouth, horror in the dark pools of her eyes. “Oh, Percival… all this time? What… what did he do to you?”

Percival was quiet, his mouth pressed into a small frown.

“As important as it will be to account for all the details of what happened,” Tina cut in, “I have to stress that we are _running out of time_. Ma’am, Grindelwald has plans to start this war whether both sides want it or not.”

Seraphina’s gaze grew flinty, her shoulders stiff. “I see. If what you’re saying is true, he’s been treating us all as pawns in his own personal chess game, playing both sides of the board himself. Merlin, were any of those rude letters sent in response to my offers of peace even real?” She looked furious, whirling around toward the guards at the door. “Lopez, go to the border, tell the regiment to stand down. Any orders that don’t come directly from me are to be ignored, and all attacks are to be held off indefinitely until we have more information. We _can’t_ be the ones to fire the first shot, not if Myria’s threats were fake. I’m not in the habit of killing people that aren’t my true enemies.”

The woman on the left bowed formally, her expression solemn. “Understood, ma’am. I will go at once.” She straightened up, looking hesitant. “Um. Your Majesty, what about this morning’s shipment of artillery, should I cancel that, too?”

The Queen looked at her sharply. “What?” she asked. “What shipment?”

Lopez looked confused, and a little nervous. “The… the new magically enhanced missiles, ma’am. My brother down in weapons development said he’d been given permission to distribute them to the troops at the border. They received approval yesterday to be shipped this morning.” 

There was a pause. Her Majesty’s mouth was very tight, her fist clenching angrily at her side. “Approved,” she said dangerously. “By whom?”

“Ma’am, I… I don’t know,” Lopez whispered. “I thought the memo came from you. My brother said it was stamped with the royal seal. He would never have proceeded otherwise.”

“I see,” Seraphina said, flatly furious. “How interesting, considering I specifically said not to distribute those weapons until we were sure they were stable.” She ran a hand over her face. “Damn it, Scamander, I hate it when you’re right. Someone has been intercepting the memos in this palace, undermining my command.” 

Newt made a soft noise of wordless sympathy. “I, er… in this instance, I wish I’d been wrong,” he said.

“Yes, well.” Summoning her composure once more, the Queen straightened her back. “I will owe you a heartfelt apology when all this is over, for ignoring your warning. And for the mess that came afterward.” She sighed. “But we don’t have time for that now. Lopez, inform your brother to cancel that shipment. His team is not to send any weapons this morning.”

The guard nodded hurriedly, giving the Queen a dutiful salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Then go to the border, as we agreed.”

“Absolutely, ma’am.”

Credence breathed an inward sigh of relief as Lopez hurried out of the room. The more pressing issue, however, was far from resolved.

“Fontaine, I need you to fetch more backup as quickly and discretely as you can,” Seraphina went on. “Meet us downstairs, don’t raise the alarm. We’re going to need to capture Grindelwald as efficiently as possible, before he has any inkling we’re on to him.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” the second guardswoman replied, squaring her shoulders and gripping her wand tightly. She, too, dashed through the door and disappeared.

“Tina, I am reinstating you as Captain,” Her Majesty was saying, flicking her wrist and slashing through the ropes binding Tina’s arms. Tina scrambled to pick up her wand, following the Queen as she strode quickly toward the door. 

“Graves, with me,” Seraphina ordered. “That old snake won’t go quietly, and we can use any insight you’ve got into his fighting style. You’re the only one who’s faced him one-on-one before.”

“Of course,” the man replied, his back straight and his gaze resolute.

“But-” Credence wasn’t quite able to bite back the half-voiced sound of dismay that worked its way out of his throat at that. Percival wasn’t recovered enough to go into battle! He could barely keep his balance on uneven ground, let alone dodge offensive spells, and his magic wasn’t working yet!

The Commander turned to look at him, a dense tangle of emotion in his dark eyes. 

“The rest of you are officially civilians,” Seraphina pronounced, “which means you will stay here. This matter needs to be handled with military precision. Send my owl to the garrison downriver to alert them of the situation, then wait for us to return.”

More waiting? Credence didn’t think he could bear to do that. He was still staring at Percival, distraught.

“Credence,” the man said softly, reaching out to squeeze his good shoulder.

“You… but you don’t have your wand,” Credence couldn’t help but argue. “And you’ve only just got your legs back, not to mention your speech. It’s too dangerous,” he said, his voice small and tight.

Percival moved his hand to cup the back of Credence’s neck, a soothing warm pressure. “I’ll be fine,” he said firmly, his voice somber. Credence wanted to be convinced, but he couldn’t shake the dread in his chest. “I need to help. Thissus what I came here for, remember?”

The Queen was waiting edgily by the door, giving them some semblance of privacy as she took a moment to transfigure her dressing gown into something more professional, the line of her shoulders tight with impatience. 

“I thought you came here to show proof of Grindelwald’s charade, not to join in the fight yourself,” Credence replied, voice cracking. “Haven’t you done your part already?” A few feet away, Newt was looking on anxiously, his fingers tangled together.

Percival cupped Credence’s face in one broad palm, thumb running over his cheek. “Not yet,” he said lowly. “I’m not done, not untul I see him defeated. I need to stop him, for all of us. For you. You won’t have to worry about him ever again. I’ll make sure he can never touch you.”

Oh, God save him from infuriating soldiers and their self-sacrificing sense of chivalry! “That’s… I appreciate that,” Credence said, trying not to allow his frustration to bleed into his voice. “But I don’t want him to hurt _you_ either. If you have to go, I want to come, too, I… I want to help. To protect you.”

“Credence,” the Commander murmured, his gaze soft, “you’ve already helped, so much. You gave me back myself. Now I have to go do this. You stay here, where I know you’re safe.” Percival leaned in and pressed a swift kiss against his forehead.

For goodness sake! Credence didn’t know whether to smile or cry. But it seemed that his time to decide was swiftly coming to an end; Seraphina was waiting in the doorway, swishing her wand in agitation.

“Graves?” she called.

The man’s eyes betrayed no fear, but there was something worried about the tight set of his mouth as he straightened his back and made to follow her.

“Wait,” Credence said impulsively, pulling the sprig of rosemary out of his pocket. He tugged the man firmly back, stuffing the leafy green twig into the lapel of his coat. 

And then he twined his arms around the Commander’s neck and kissed him full on the mouth, uncaring that everyone was watching. He pressed his body against the man’s, deepening the kiss with a shy bit of tongue, warm and lingering, like he’d seen Percival and Newt do earlier.

When he pulled back, Percival was a little out of breath and Her Majesty was staring at them in shock. “You’d better come back to us in one piece, do you hear me?” Credence declared, with as much certainty as he could muster. “Or Newt and I will be very unhappy. You don’t want to make us unhappy, do you?”

He knew he wasn’t really playing fair, but right now it didn’t much matter. Seraphina was goggling at Credence, her mouth open, Queenie was smiling, and Tina looked a little exasperated.

And Percival’s cheeks were pink, his large hands clutching Credence’s waist. Pressing their foreheads together, the man cleared his throat. “No, of course not,” he answered dutifully. “I wull be careful, I promise.”

“Good,” Credence said, waving Newt over. The wizard stepped closer immediately, leaning in to kiss Percival too. Credence glanced sheepishly over at Seraphina where she stood waiting by the door, eyebrows raised. “All of you should be careful,” he told her. 

Her Majesty’s expression, surprisingly, smoothed into one of grudging approval. She gave him a graceful nod. “I will ensure that we are,” she said, smirking slightly.

And then, unfortunately, Credence and Newt had to let go of the lapel of Graves’ coat and let the man leave. The echoes of his footsteps sounded in the hall as he passed through the door, carrying his walking stick, shooting one last glace at them over his shoulder. 

Tina followed, and then the Queen.

“I’m warding you inside,” Her Majesty said, as she pulled the heavy door shut. “My bedchamber is the most secure room in the palace; this door is unbreachable. You’ll be safe here.” And then she swung it the rest of the way closed with a final-sounding thud of wood, and the click of a lock, and Credence tried not to panic. 

Despite Seraphina’s words, he felt terrified. How could he not be? Percival and Tina were out there, unprotected, about to face Grindelwald. Credence could hardly breathe.

For a moment or two, they were left in anxious itching quiet, Credence resisting the urge to wring his hands and Newt standing with his arm around Credence’s shoulders. Queenie looked like she was thinking hard, her eyes fixed on the door.

“So,” Credence began hopelessly, “should we send that owl?”

This seemed to snap all of them out of their worried haze. “Right!” Newt said quickly. “Yes. We ought to send word to the garrison.” He strode over to the elaborately carved wooden roost, where the familiar bird sat staring haughtily at them all. She looked slightly cranky, perhaps irritated by all the loud talking interrupting her peaceful morning nap.

“Would you mind, lovely girl?” Newt murmured gently to the owl. “It’s terribly important. Afraid it can’t wait.”

Not even the grumpiest owl could resist Newt for long. Soon, he had her on his wrist, her foot graciously extended for the letter. It was quick work for Queenie to summon some parchment and write out a missive, securing it to the owl’s talons as the bird ruffled her feathers and nipped playfully at Newt’s hair. 

“There we go,” Queenie announced, and Newt carefully boosted the owl out the open window, watching her silhouette dwindle in the distance to a small dark speck, winging swiftly downriver. 

Their task done, Credence twisted his hands in the sleeves of his shirt, tendrils of anxiety creeping like vines around his chest, tight and constricting. Now that the letter was sent, there was nothing else to distract them from the dull horror of waiting. Credence felt awful. He didn’t want to be stuck here while all the action took place downstairs, unable to see, to help, to know what was going on. He stared out at the sun creeping over the distant hills, full of conflicted desire. He wanted time to run slowly and quickly all at once.

“Well, that’s taken care of,” Queenie said promptly, rummaging in her purse. Credence didn’t understand how she looked so calm and collected, though perhaps it was just a mask she was skilled at wearing. Newt was pacing over by the far wall, near the owl’s perch, running his long fingers along a dark wood bookshelf covered with dusty tomes. 

Credence’s eyes roamed over the room, trying desperately to fixate on something other than his worry, stifling the hungry creep of pessimism. His attention caught on the engraved urn displayed proudly on the Queen’s desk, finely decorated with some sort of leaf pattern. Clearly, it was an item of some value, if Her Majesty had it in such a prominent location. 

He stepped closer, puzzled. It was odd, but the vessel looked a bit familiar. He had a strange blurry feeling that he’d seen it before, accompanied by a splash of water and a smear of dreamlike shadows.

“Come on, now, where did I put that map?” Queenie murmured, pulling Credence’s awareness back toward her. She had her entire arm inside her pink handbag now, groping in the expanded space. “Oh, for Merlin's sake. This is the trouble with that undetectable extension charm, Newt, it’s useful but it makes everything harder to reach. Oh, I’d better just… _accio map!_.”

Oh! Right. Credence remembered now; Queenie and Tina had made a map, in case they got separated. But what use could a map be in here, when they were warded inside? Credence watched her in confusion, something tickling in his mind, competing for attention. His gaze slid toward that urn again, the leaf pattern engraved on the sides, long slender stems with thin spiky leaves, green and robust and reassuring. 

Rosemary. 

The urn was decorated with _rosemary_. It sat there, innocently eye-catching, almost as if it were meant for Credence. Meant to snag his attention, meant to be picked up off the desk.

Queenie made a soft sound of triumph. “There it is! Mercy Lewis, finally.” She had a folded piece of parchment in her hand, covered in diagrams and instructions in Tina’s tidy scrawl. “Alright, Newt, we’re looking for a history volume. The Ill-Fated Exploits of Barnabas the Barmy.”

Newt was hunched over by the bookshelf, peering at the lettering on the spine of a small leather-bound volume, faded and cracked with age. “Aha!” he said. “Found it! Barnabas… isn’t he the bloke that did research with trolls? Bit of a nutter, but at least he showed an interest in studying another species. Even if his methodology was rather… well.”

“Ridiculous?” Queenie asked, striding over to rest the tip of her wand on the spine of the small book. 

“Yes, quite,” Newt said, with a brief smile.

Queenie smirked at him wryly. “Alright, let’s hope this works. Should be… let’s see… _dissendium_.”

Credence heard a sudden click, watching in puzzlement as the book slid slowly inward, and then, with a grinding creak, the heavy bookshelf itself began to move, swinging inward like a door. Beyond was a very narrow passageway, stretching out of the sunlight and into cool dark shadow. 

“A secret passage?” Credence asked, hope fluttering lightly in his chest. Of course! The Queen would need to have an emergency escape route, just in case she was trapped up here in desperate circumstances. Or... in case she wanted to have a clandestine rendezvous with someone. A very familiar someone, if the fact that Tina was privy to its existence was any indication.

Queenie cleared her throat, sending him an amused glance. "It goes down to an unused antechamber outside the banquet hall,” she replied, squinting at the handwritten map. “From which we can make our way down the back stairs to Commander Graves’ personal chambers. Coming, sweetie?” she asked, looking over her shoulder at Credence.

Credence gasped out a rather frantic laugh. “So, we’re not going to follow the Queen’s orders, then?” It felt a bit wild to disobey the rules like this. Wild in a good way. 

“What, sit around and wait?” Queenie said, with a scoff. “I don’t think so. I’ve never been one to let anything stand in the way of protecting the people I care about. Teenie’s the good girl in the family; Newt and I don’t care much for behaving properly.”

Beside her, Newt shuffled his feet and gave a sheepish half-grin. “That’s certainly true. I was never a great follower of orders.” He blinked over at Credence. “But, darling, you don’t have to come with us. I know I’m probably wasting my breath, but I’d feel better if you were safe up here.”

Once again, however, Credence shook his head. “No, no, you’re not leaving me behind. I’m coming, and I think I’m… I’m bringing that urn with me,” he said firmly. It was decided. He strode over to the desk, carefully lifting the squat vessel into his arms. It was heavy, and the contents sloshed a little bit under the lid. Up close, he could now see that there was something written around the rim, some sort of inscription that he couldn’t read. They looked a bit like the Goblin Runes he’d seen in one of Newt’s books, but he hadn’t the faintest clue what they said.

“Oh?” Newt asked, staring at the urn in surprise. “Are you sure? Do you… know what it’s for?”

Credence shifted the heavy pot slightly in his arms. “Um. No,” he admitted, feeling slightly foolish. It was dangerously reckless, after all, to steal the Queen’s personal property, especially without a clear reason. “But I… I just have a feeling it’s meant to come with us. That dream I had last night… I think this was in it.”

“Really?” the wizard said, eyes brightening in fascination. “Another vision?”

“I, um… maybe?” Credence said. “So far this is the only part that’s come true. But I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with it yet.”

“Huh,” Queenie said. “Well, might as well bring it, honey, if you think it’s important. Stick it in my handbag so you don’t have to carry it. Come on, boys, time is ticking.” She held out the small pink purse, and Credence gently eased the urn inside, watching in amazement as it vanished through the impossibly small opening. 

And then, prickled with urgency, the three of them hurried single-file into the darkness of the passage, lit by Queenie’s hasty murmured “ _lumos_ ,” their footsteps muffled on the dusty wood floor. The hallway sloped gently downward, curving slightly to the left, its plaster walls rough and windowless. As they descended into the darkness, Credence tried to picture where they were relative to the outside of the palace, which direction they were facing. Toward the city? Toward the mountains? It was hopeless, however. There was nothing to orient himself by, only a long dark corridor with no distinguishing features, lit by Queenie’s wand. 

At last, the floor began to even out again, before abruptly ending at a small alcove with a door. 

“Here we go,” Queenie whispered, her voice echoing oddly in the warped space, the stifled cobwebby quiet. “Let’s hope this isn’t blocked on the other side.”

“Nothing for it but to try, I suppose,” Newt breathed, then stifled a sneeze into his elbow. “Merlin, hasn’t Seraphina ever heard of cleaning charms? This place is filthy.”

“Oh, and you’ve never slacked off on cleaning spells?” Credence said jokingly, trying desperately to distract himself from the task that lay ahead. Just one more lighthearted moment before he had to see Grindelwald again. 

Newt let out a surprised burst of delighted laughter. “You’ve got me there, haven’t you,” he said easily, the wandlight catching on the gleam of his smile, the delicate lines of mirth around his lips. “I think Ariel’s sarcasm is rubbing off on you, darling.”

They all watched in trepidation as Queenie tried the door handle, wand in hand, her brow furrowed. It opened with no resistance, letting them out into a dimly lit room, empty but for a long scrubbed-wood table.

“Oh, good,” Queenie breathed. “This is definitely the right place. Tina said during formal events the food gets magicked up here from the kitchens so the servers can bring it out on trays.”

They trod carefully across the flagstones of the floor, weak early sunlight filtering in through a tiny window up near the ceiling. Queenie was easing open the door on the far wall, her head tilted as if she were listening intently. 

“I can’t hear anybody thinking nearby,” she murmured. “Come on.” 

Well, that was quite useful.

The doorway opened into the enormous dim cavern of what must be the banquet hall itself, a handsome space with wide chandeliers hanging heavy under their dust-cloths, a few high windows letting in faint fingers of light below a staggeringly large mural of glittering stars painted on the ceiling. There were sconces around the edges of the room, though the torches inside were unlit, and a great number of round tables in a tidy row, each one muffled with a white dust sheet. The walls around them were paned with enormous mirrors, framed with carved wood, making the dark marble floor appear to go on forever. 

_Oh._ Credence shivered, eyeing his pale-faced reflection, small and ghostly in the gloom. Those mirrors looked eerily familiar.

Above them was a balcony with railings painted gold, and another table, set underneath a rich tapestry depicting the Queen’s grandmother sitting triumphantly astride her horse. No doubt that was where Her Majesty took her dinner, looking out on the dance floor, over the masses of her guests. It was quite the statement of power, this grand tidy opulence.

“It’s a little spooky without anybody here,” Queenie whispered in the half-dark, raising her lit wand as they hesitantly inched forward, their footsteps echoing in the massive room. “You have to imagine it full of people in their dress robes and evening gowns, all lit up and sparkling. We’ll have to bring you with us this year, Credence. Her Majesty throws an annual ball at Midwinter,” she explained. “Witches and wizards come to visit from all over the realm, and the neighboring kingdoms too. Or at least, they used to when the city was at peace.” Her smile dimmed slightly. “I hope this year will be no different.”

Credence hoped so, too. What a wonderful idea, a ball with dancing and magic! If they got through this, he wanted very much to see what that was like.

Newt, by his side, nodded swiftly. “Let’s assume the ball will happen,” he murmured firmly. “We’ll catch that awful bastard and the kingdom will be safe. Come on.” He hurried ahead, toward a set of grand double doors underneath the Queen’s balcony. “This way, isn’t it?”

Queenie glanced down at her map. “Yes,” she said. “Through the doors and to the right, then down the back stairs to the kitchens and through the supply hallway, and from there it’s a straight shot to Graves’ quarters.” 

The three of them strode forward, filled with urgent hope, poised to open the doors.

Just as Newt’s fingertips brushed the handle, however, a sudden voice made Credence’s heart jump into his throat, his entire body flinching.

“Graves’ quarters, hmm?” came a man’s voice, smooth and crisp. “And what exactly do you hope to accomplish down there?”

They all whirled around, startled, looking wildly for the person who had spoken. Credence raked his eyes through the semidarkness, his heart beating in loud panic. 

_There_. He could see a figure standing mostly out of sight, tucked in the corner, near one of the carved pillars supporting the balcony. The man was in shadow, but as he stiffly took a step closer, Credence thought he could see slicked-back dark hair and pale features.

Oh, God, oh, Merlin…

And then the man stepped out from under the balcony, the weak sunlight revealing the shape of his jaw, his nose, and Credence blinked, staring in confusion.

Queenie raised her wand, its light illuminating the rest of the man’s face.

It was not the face Credence had been expecting to see. But he wasn’t sure that was a good thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun dun............... 
> 
> Sorry, I'm apparently a little bit evil when it comes to cliffhangers. But I'm working furiously on the next chapter, I promise. I don't want to leave you hanging there too long, and I am so excited to finish the rest so I can hear what you think. Aaah! Just got to squeeze these re-writes out and edit them so they don't suck. You know how it goes ;)


	13. A Light in Dark Places

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild content warning for fantasy violence, bad things happening to good people (temporarily, but still) and Grindelwald being a poop-head.

It was Abernathy.

Looking triumphant, he was strolling toward them, his wand trained on Newt.

“Newton Scamander,” the secretary said pompously. “I’m surprised to find you breaking into the palace again so soon after your treacherous and cowardly escape yesterday. And with the church boy in tow again, too! And Goldstein’s renegade sister, the one who broke the law and married a no-maj, isn’t that right?” He narrowed his eyes at Queenie, then lifted his wand arm higher. “Whatever you three are up to, it can’t be good. I ought to raise the alarm immediately.”

“No! No, there’s no need for that!” Newt exclaimed, deeply exasperated. “Oh, for Merlin’s sake!” he said. “I’m entirely sick of this. Queenie’s broken no laws and I’ve committed no treachery, the only reason I was arrested yesterday was because I was _framed_ , and quite sloppily too, and if the Queen had been in a better state of mind she would’ve seen through it immediately. See here, Mister Abernathy, you can ask her yourself. Her Majesty spoke with us this morning, she saw proof that we were telling the truth, and we are here in the palace now with her full consent.”

Credence, busy trying to get his heartbeat back under control after Abernathy’s sudden appearance, sent Newt a sideways glance. His words were not, strictly speaking, a lie, though he’d smoothly omitted the part about them breaking into Her Majesty’s bedchamber and then sneaking out again without her knowledge. Queenie, on Newt’s other side, had a faint frown on her face and was staring at Abernathy with a guarded look of suspicion.

“With her full consent?” Abernathy said haughtily, though his wand lowered by a hair. “Really? And what ‘proof’ did you show her, may I ask?”

Newt blinked at him, swallowing. “Proof that someone else has been disturbing the workings of the palace. Someone who could very easily have caused the explosion in the market yesterday,” he said. “We are not a threat to her security, we’re here to help.”

Abernathy narrowed his eyes. “Indeed.” He said it delicately, without any inflection, though Credence thought he saw a flicker of something dark pass over his face.

“Yes, I swear it,” Newt pressed on. “And if you’ll just escort us to Commander Graves’ quarters, the Queen will tell you the details of what’s going on. She can confirm everything we’ve told you. We’ll go along quietly, I promise. No need to raise an alarm.”

The secretary raised his eyebrows. “You’ll cooperate?” he asked, tilting his head, his gaze fixed keenly on Newt’s face. “Well, that’s certainly a tempting offer. But why would the Queen be in the Commander’s quarters at this hour? I haven’t been summoned to any war councils this morning.”

“No, she’s not in council, they’re going to–” Newt began, but he cut off suddenly. Credence thought he saw a subtle twitch of movement from Queenie’s fingers, as if she had pinched him. “Erm. They’re just having an informal chat,” Newt said hurriedly, fidgeting. “Her Majesty needed to speak with the Commander about the, er… something to do with last minute battle tactics, squad positioning, something or other. It all went over my head, really. I don’t know much about combat magic.”

Still pointing his wand straight at Newt, Abernathy pursed his lips. “Well, that’s highly unusual,” he said sourly. “Normally I am called upon to take notes any time there are strategic decisions being made.” He seemed to come to some internal verdict. “Very well,” he declared, “we will go find Her Majesty and get to the bottom of what is going on.” He waved a hand lazily, summoning Queenie’s wand out of her hand.

“What do you think you're doing!” Queenie cried indignantly.

“We said we would go willingly,” Newt protested. 

“Yes, you did. But you are still under suspicion for a crime,” the man replied with an arrogant smirk. “And, as such, you must all be disarmed while you are inside the palace. It is protocol.” And then he did something complicated with his wand, conjuring ropes that snaked themselves around Newt’s forearms and bound his hands together behind his back. 

“Wha– there’s no need for this!” Newt said angrily. He made a noise of vexed frustration, struggling, and Credence had a horrible feeling of déjà vu. 

“On the contrary. You are particularly known for slipping out of tight situations, Mister Scamander,” Abernathy said smoothly. “I’m not taking any chances.” He stepped crisply toward them, twisting his fingers in a beckoning gesture, and Newt was yanked into his grasp as if by an invisible hand. The secretary gripped Newt by his shoulder, pointing his wand at the wizard’s head, a smarmy look of pride on his face.

Credence, sick with rage, resisted the urge to scream. Or punch the insufferable man in the nose. He reminded himself that they only had to endure this humiliation until they got to the Commander’s quarters, until the Queen cleared things up.

Right?

“Fine,” Newt spat. “But let’s get moving. And don’t push me, I can walk.” He met Credence’s gaze, sending him a miniscule roll of the eyes, trying to put Credence at ease.

Credence swallowed hard, clenching his fists, and did his best to keep calm.

“Goldstein, you and the church boy will walk in front of me, where I can see you. No sudden movements. Push open the doors and take a right,” Abernathy ordered.

Reluctantly, Credence glanced at Queenie. She’d remained mostly quiet throughout this entire exchange, and now the look she gave him was one of wordless intensity, her eyes wide and her face grave. As they turned and pushed through the doors, she surreptitiously pressed her hand over Credence’s fingers, squeezing them slightly. He felt a phantom ruffling sensation in his mind, strange and foreign, like a puff of breath tickling his brain. It… it came from her, he realized, as if she were whispering straight into his thoughts.

 _Not good_.

Credence stiffened slightly, trying not to show any reaction. They stepped through the doorway, Queenie still clutching his hand, and Credence’s heart sank. Well, no, nothing about this was good! Percival and Tina were in danger and Newt had been tied up by a rude man with a misguided sense of duty and too much self-importance, and Grindelwald was somewhere in the palace, and…

But Credence was guessing that she meant something else. Something more specific.

 _I didn’t know he was there,_ she whispered silently. 

They began trudging along the hallway to the right, stiff-backed, with Abernathy guiding Newt behind them. Credence dared a quick look to the side to catch Queenie’s face, trying to look sympathetic. She’d done her best; it wasn’t her fault that Abernathy had snuck up on them.

But Queenie sent him a tiny frown, tightening her grip on his fingers. 

_I should’ve been able to hear him._ This whisper was louder, with more certainty behind it, more insistence.

Credence didn’t know a whole lot about mind-reading, but he knew that some people were very good at keeping listeners like Queenie out of their heads; Newt had tried to explain how it worked, though it had sounded awfully difficult and confusing. Occlumency, or something like that. Abernathy was an unassuming man at first glance, but appearances could be deceiving; perhaps he was a gifted Occlumens? Credence wasn’t sure how rare a talent that was. Maybe it was a prerequisite for working in the palace in such a high position.

They were marching toward the end of the hallway, where Credence could see a set of stairs leading downward, presumably toward the kitchen. As they walked, they could hear faint voices up ahead, and what sounded like footsteps. Credence swallowed hard. They were running footsteps, urgent and clattering. What was happening down there? Was Percival okay? Was Grindelwald putting up a fight?

 _I can usually hear him,_ Queenie whispered pointedly.

Credence was distracted by his worry for Percival, his mind panicked, so it took him a moment to understand what she meant. 

She could usually hear Abernathy’s thoughts. So why hadn’t she been able to just now?

The footsteps were getting louder, accompanied by muffled shouting. Oh, lord. Credence peeked over his shoulder at Newt, who was looking uneasy. Abernathy, still clutching the wizard by his bound arms, had an intent look on his face, his eyes narrowed.

“Hmm. Something’s wrong,” the secretary said smoothly. “It sounds as if there’s been a disturbance. Protocol dictates that civilians must be kept out of the way of all military matters and incidents that compromise the palace’s security. You must come with me. All of you. I will take you somewhere safe.” He turned and began to drag Newt the opposite direction.

“What? No!” Newt said, trying unsuccessfully to dig in his heels. Abernathy was deceptively strong. “No, you need to untie me, and we need to go help! Bugger your protocol, your Queen could be in danger! Isn’t that more important?”

Abernathy frowned in irritation. “Mister Scamander, it is not up to you to dictate my job to me. Now, if you won’t come quietly, I’m afraid I’ll have to–”

_BOOM._

Some sort of explosion went off, loud and deep, ringing in Credence’s skull like a bell. He stumbled against Queenie, both of them ducking their heads as plaster rained from the ceiling. The hallway was suddenly lit up with spells flashing rapidly back and forth, and as Credence squinted through the dust and bright lights, he saw several figures emerging from the staircase at the far end of the corridor, chasing someone. A horribly familiar someone; a figure in a long dark coat, his black and silver wand whipping over his shoulder. 

And he was sprinting right toward them. 

“We need to move,” Queenie breathed, clutching Credence’s wrist. There was nowhere to go but back the way they had come, back to the banquet hall, and _quickly_. 

The man in the long coat was running almost unnaturally fast, vibrating with power, sending spell after spell ricocheting toward his pursuers. The next moment, he swirled a wave of magic into the air that made the dust and crumbled plaster on the floor rise up to form a thick cloud, obscuring everything in the hallway. Credence, eyes watering, caught one hazy glimpse of Abernathy and Newt running behind them, all of them scrambling blindly away from the oncoming stampede of footsteps, tripping over chunks of brick and debris. 

“Come on,” Queenie gasped, gripping Credence by the sleeve when he stumbled, pulling him toward the blurry shape of the banquet hall doors, a dim open rectangle in the sandy fog. They charged through the doorway and into the cleaner air, Newt and Abernathy right behind them. They had only a moment to fling themselves into hiding behind the pillars holding up the balcony before the room shook with another splintering explosion.

_Crack!_

Grindelwald, still wearing Percival’s face, had blasted the doors right off their hinges and was racing into the banquet hall, a tangle of palace guards close on his heels. Tina was in their midst, closely followed by Seraphina, breathing hard. And there was Percival, at the rear, limping slightly. The rowan walking stick was in his hand, plaster dust in his hair, and an expression of stubborn courage was on his face.

Oh, God, Credence was so painfully relieved to see him he almost wanted to cry.

“What–” Abernathy breathed.

“Surrender, Grindelwald,” Her Majesty ordered, panting and clutching a stitch in her side. She snapped her fingers and the torches on the walls all flared to life, illuminating the room. The Queen herself looked exhausted; clearly, subsisting on too little sleep for so long hadn’t helped her endurance. She gestured to the guards, who moved smoothly into formation, surrounding the lone figure in the middle of the floor.

The Wizard of the Waste himself was looking a bit ragged as well. He was breathing hard, his borrowed skin coated with a sheen of sweat, and there were sleepless shadows under his eyes just like the Queen’s. His expression, however, was cold and emotionless, just as stony and impassive as it had been yesterday in the dungeon room. The wizard sent a flurry of spells toward his attackers with a smooth automatic motion, barely even looking at them, his face unnervingly indifferent. He had a cut on his cheek, a thin slash that was dripping blood slowly down his jaw and neck, but he made no move to wipe at it or heal it. 

“What can you hope to gain from fighting us any longer?” Tina asked, shooting a fiery red spell at Grindelwald that caught him in the ribs and knocked him heavily backward into one of the cloth-covered tables. “We’ve put a stop to your war, your game is up, we’ve got you cornered! Not even _you_ can fight all of us forever, and you can’t escape through the palace’s anti-apparition wards.”

Grindelwald staggered back to his feet, straightening up again without hesitation, his features still empty of any feeling. No anger, no spite, no triumph, not even a wince from hitting the table. And that _had_ to have left a bruise. The man’s stiff posture never faltered, nor did he answer Tina’s taunts. He charged back into the fray without so much as a grimace, dark eyes glassy. 

His complete apathy made Credence feel distinctly uncomfortable. Something about that man was _wrong_.

Seraphina likewise seemed unsettled by Grindelwald’s stony silence. “This poker face isn’t your usual style,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “Come on, you’re much too fond of your own wit to pretend to be serious for long. Don’t you want to gloat to me about how close you came to ruining everything I’ve worked for? What was your game plan, Grindelwald?”

But the man didn’t answer. Another spell hit him hard in the shoulder, too fast for him to block, but the wizard simply continued to fight, uncaring of his safety, uncaring of the pain he was in. 

Credence didn’t understand. Did he not have any feeling left?

 _Something’s not right_ , Queenie breathed into his mind, wearing a look of intense concentration on her face. _His thoughts, I can almost hear them, but they’re… muffled, strange. Almost… wispy._

What? Credence thought desperately. What did that mean? In confusion, he glanced at Newt, who was watching the action with wide eyes, his face pale. Abernathy, next to him, appeared raptly focused on the battle as well, his fingers curled so tightly in Newt’s collar that his knuckles were white. His expression, dim and shadowy under the balcony, did not seem smug any longer, but dark with concentrated spite. He must really hate Grindelwald.

Turning back to the battle, Credence looked instinctively for Percival, the real Percival. There he was again, hearteningly familiar, at the back of the group of soldiers, wearing a worried frown and those too-tight trousers, staring in frustration at his hands. He looked like he was trying to get his magic working, but he wasn’t having any luck, shaking his fingers to no avail.

But Grindelwald certainly had no shortage of power. Though he looked tired, he was flinging spells so quickly that he was able to block almost everything the guards sent his way, all smooth grace and muscular force, with a look of detached blankness on his features. 

Why did he _still_ seem so wooden, even in the midst of all this fighting?

He hadn’t been like this in the church when he’d cursed Credence, or in the forest clearing in Credence’s dream, not by a long shot. Back then, he’d been smug and sarcastic, gleeful and arrogant, relishing his own importance. Was this an act? 

_Something’s missing,_ Queenie whispered silently. _I don’t know how to describe it. It’s like he’s there, but he’s not… right. He’s not really there_.

Now she sounded like she was speaking in riddles. Credence swallowed, trying to wrap his head around what she was saying.

Did she mean Grindelwald was crazy? Because that was true; there could be no doubt that he wasn’t all there. Only a madman would want to eat people’s hearts in order to live forever.

Out on the marble floor, Grindelwald had begun to lose ground. He was being forced backward into a corner, toward the mirrors that lined the wall, his broad-shouldered figure reflected in the glass on all sides. The next moment, Seraphina managed to lash at him with a tongue of golden fire, scorching his coat and filling the room with the odor of burnt wool. He barely reacted, aside from coolly putting the fire out with his wand.

 _Not crazy, I don’t think,_ Queenie replied to his unspoken question. _More like… he’s been scraped inside. He’s full of holes._

What?

Distracted, Credence noticed that the soldiers seemed to be rallying around Tina now. She shouted a command, and the entire group cast in a coordinated wave of magic that was able to slam Grindelwald backward into one of the mirrored walls, cracking the glass into a delicate spiderweb, a kaleidoscope of shards, reflecting the torches back in glittering fragments of light. The wizard’s silver and black wand came flying out of his hand in a high arc, landing solidly in Tina’s palm.

Behind him, Credence thought he heard Abernathy make a nearly-inaudible sound, perhaps of contempt. 

“Nice work,” Her Majesty said, giving Tina a warm look.

Tina flashed a swift smile. She didn’t have a chance to celebrate for long, though. Grindelwald had straightened up once more and begun to use wandless magic, undaunted by how cornered he was. The tables in the banquet hall arose groaning from the floor to fling themselves at the palace guards, who had no choice but to defend themselves by blasting the smooth dark wood to pieces.

Credence winced. So much destruction of property.

But the Wizard of the Waste was running out of tricks. The tables were dwindling and he was breathing hard, exhausted, although his posture was still rigidly upright, stiff as a toy soldier.

“You want to do the honors, ma’am?” Tina said, flinging another spell that seemed to freeze Grindelwald in place.

“Absolutely,” Seraphina replied immediately. Her Majesty moved her wand in a complicated twisting swirl, conjuring ropes out of nowhere. They reached sinuously through the air and bound Grindelwald’s hands and arms tightly, securing him completely. 

“Ha!” Tina shouted.

Grindelwald was wrapped up helplessly, unable to fight back.

The action stopped, skidding to an abrupt halt. The hall was full of harsh panting breaths.

Was that it? It seemed almost anti-climactic. 

Could it be over so easily? 

At Credence’s side, Queenie shifted on her feet. _I don’t think so_ , she thought to him. _There’s not… we’re missing something. This isn’t as simple as we thought, it can't be._

Well, that wasn’t good. 

“Merlin’s beard,” Seraphina huffed, breaking the silence. She wiped the sweat from her brow with one dusty sleeve. “I knew we’d subdue you soon enough, but that was… almost lazy. What, was your heart not in it?” She rolled her shoulders, stretching her spine, staring intently at Grindelwald.

The Wizard of the Waste was silent, his arms held in the rigid grip of Tina’s spell and the coil of the Queen’s ropes. His eyes stared back at her, glassy and strange, stiff as a puppet and blank as a block of wood.

Credence swallowed, a creeping feeling of unease sliding its way down his throat.

“Come on, speak! Stop pretending!” Seraphina said in irritation. “For goodness sake, we know you aren’t Percival Graves. The real Percival is here, safe and sound.” 

She turned, beckoning the real Percival forward. The Commander shouldered his way through the crowd, wiping the plaster shards off his coat, his jaw set angrily. He stared at his doppelganger, stepping right into the imposter’s space, glaring, toe to toe with his copy, matched like mirror images, polar opposites. One man was cold and unemotional, vibrating with suppressed magic, the other one warm and expressive, flexing his fingers in frustration, trying to summon his inert power. The cheery sprig of rosemary peeked out of the real Percival’s pocket, green and fresh.

“Shall we end this charade?” Her Majesty asked. “That’s enough, Grindelwald. Show yourself. Or would you rather be unmasked by force?”

Still, the man stayed listlessly mute, face ambiguous and distant. His expression was so vacant that he seemed almost like a sleepwalker, present but not aware. Was that what Queenie had meant by ‘there but not really there’? The man looked like he needed a good splash of water in the face to properly wake him up. 

What on earth was going on?

“Fine!” Seraphina barked. “Percival, would you like to be the one to lift his disguise?”

But Percival sent her a grimacing frown. “My magic,” he said gruffly, clenching his fists, shoulders tight with humiliation. “Ma’am, it’s… not working yet.”

Seraphina’s eyebrows went up. “Oh,” she said, in soft sympathy. “Oh, I didn’t realize. Well, then.” She pointed her wand at the bound man carefully. “No sense beating about the bush any longer. _Revelio_.”

Credence felt a pinch of déjà vu. Just like she had done upstairs earlier, the Queen cast the spell squarely at the man’s face, magic rippling over his skin. Seraphina, Percival, and the guards leaned in closer to watch the wizard’s features, waiting for the man to change, to melt into someone else. 

Credence poked his head further out from behind the pillar, squinting, while Queenie held her breath at his side.

The spell appeared to be taking a long time to work. 

“What is this?” Seraphina asked sharply. “Come on. _Revelio!_ ”

Percival was frowning in confusion.

“Why isn’t anything happening?” Tina breathed, looking baffled.

The captured man still looked like Percival, down to the last eyelash. The two Percivals still stood facing each other, surrounded by a web of mirrors, one familiar and one unfamiliar, much like the image Credence had seen in his dream. Two identical men; or one man, multiplied. 

“Tina, what do you make of this?” Seraphina asked, frowning. “Polyjuice?” She glanced sideways at the real Percival, obviously thinking quickly. “Graves, has he had access to your hair?”

Percival shifted his stance, leaning away from his clone in puzzlement, brow furrowed. “I don’t think so, ma’am,” he said. “But he could’ve taken some befur he transfigured me into a wolf. Since the spring I’ve been… out of his reach.”

Her Majesty raised her eyebrows. “He transfigured you into a wolf?” she said. “That can’t have been pleasant. Living like a beast.”

The Commander cleared his throat. “Well, it wasn’t a luxury vacation,” he said stiffly. “But I mostly hud my wits about me. It wasn’t all bad, especially toward the end.” He folded his arms, looking slightly defensive. “The initial transformation was the worst part. Like being torn in half.”

The Queen tilted her head. Credence felt as if some slippery bit of understanding was hovering close by, just out of his reach.

“Torn in half?” Her Majesty asked. “And which spell did he use to do it, do you remember specifically?”

Percival gave her a confused look. “No,” he admitted. “It was… I must’ve passed out from the pain, it’s all… blurry. But I remumber the pale bastard catching me, and then gloating about how I had let my guard down on the road.”

Seraphina’s gaze sharpened. “And then? You woke up as a wolf, and you saw that he’d stolen your face?”

Percival stared at her. “I was… in a cage,” he replied, frowning in concentration. “And he taunted me about his plans and made a game out of hurting me. But he still looked like himsulf. I thought he must be conjuring a glamor when he got to the palace. How else could he be infiltrating your council?” He sent his doppelganger a pointed look. “And… who else could _this_ be?”

They all stared at the copy of Percival, standing there stiffly in his rope cocoon. Credence bit his lip. There was an answer swirling right in front of him, he was sure of it, waiting for him to reach out and grasp it. Almost without conscious thought, he took an instinctive step forward out of his hiding place.

“True enough,” the Queen said, folding her arms. “But, Percival, something doesn’t add up. Grindelwald kept you alive, yet it sounds as if he never made use of you. Did he take any of your memories?”

Credence took another quiet step toward the group. Nobody noticed, too focused on the paradox at hand.

Percival clenched his jaw. “Not that I can remember. But I’ve got a lot of pieces missing, I can feel the gaps in my head. Who else could’ve made those?”

The rosemary that Credence had stuffed into the pocket of the Commander’s coat earlier winked in the faint sunlight from the high windows, happy and green.

Seraphina pursed her lips. “You’re right.” She twirled her wand in agitation. “He must have taken your memories and then obliviated you, for some reason. And that means he could easily have taken your hair and made you forget. This has got to be polyjuice, then, considering it isn’t responding to _revelio_.”

Was it, though? Did polyjuice induce mental lassitude as a side effect? Credence didn’t remember reading about anything like that. And the man in the ropes was looking decidedly _not_ like someone who was firing on all cylinders. Queenie had said this wizard’s mind seemed full of holes, scraped and wispy. Somehow, that was not how Credence would’ve expected Grindelwald’s mind to feel. 

Credence took another hesitant step, following the firm tug of his intuition. That cheerful sprig of rosemary was still demanding his attention, tiny and bright. Its leaves were spiky and delicate, just like… just like the decorations on the engraved urn still tucked safely in Queenie’s purse, waiting patiently to be used.

“Well, we’ve got no way of knowing how recently he dosed himself, or how long until the potion wears off. We might as well decide what to do with him sooner rather than later,” Her Majesty said. “His crimes are severe enough to merit being stripped of his magic, at the very least, though considering how dangerous he is, the death penalty–”

“Wait!”

It was only when the entire group of soldiers flinched and whipped around to stare in his direction that Credence belatedly realized he had called out. In a hasty jumble of motion, the startled palace guards raised their wands to point at him, prickling like quills on a porcupine.

“Credence!” Percival said immediately. “No, hold your spells,” he barked, stepping out from behind the soldiers’ wands and planting himself in front of Credence like a shield. “Wands _down_. Right now.”

The guards shifted uneasily, looking toward the Queen, who narrowed her eyes but made a gesture of concession. The wands dropped. 

“Alright, Percival, at ease. We won’t do anything to hurt him. But he is not supposed to be down here,” Her Majesty said sharply, pinning Credence with a stern look. “How did you slip out of my bedroom?”

“Um.” Awkwardly, Credence shifted on his feet while Seraphina waited pointedly for an explanation. Would Tina get in trouble if he mentioned the secret passage? But this was all a waste of time; there was something else Credence needed to do first and foremost, something important. There were answers within reach, and he was not going to let them slip away.

“I wanted to help, so I found a way out,” Credence said, sidestepping her question. “Your Majesty, I think we’re all missing something. You said yourself that things didn’t add up, and I think you were right.” He was surprised at how certain his words sounded. Guided by a hazy feeling of intuition, he held out his hand behind him, knowing Queenie would hear his unspoken request.

There was a rustle of fabric, and Queenie’s footsteps emerging from beneath the balcony. He felt the press of the metal urn into his palm.

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, you too, Mrs. Kowalski?” Seraphina said, annoyed. “Why did I even bother trying to keep you all safe, if you were just going to sneak out behind my back? I presume Scamander is with you as well? And what is…? Hang on, is that my sample jar of Thief’s Downfall? Did you take that from my desk?”

Percival looked at Credence, a bit startled to find him holding the purloined vessel. “Credence?” he said, puzzled.

“Um. Sorry,” Credence breathed, clutching the urn. “I promise I don’t normally take things that aren’t mine, but I really think this will help.”

Seraphina’s annoyance was eclipsed by a sudden look of thoughtfulness. “Well, actually… it could wash away the polyjuice, at least.” Then, however, she shook her head. “On the other hand, we might as well just wait for the potion to wear off. Grindelwald can’t go anywhere right now, and considering the Goblins are so stingy about giving away samples I was intending to save that water for only the direst circumstances.”

Credence bit his lip over a frown. But these _were_ dire circumstances, surely. A madman was trying to destroy their kingdom and had done something awful to Percival and now they needed to unravel what was going on here to be sure they weren’t being fooled again. 

Tina seemed to agree. “Ma’am,” she piped up. “I applaud your tendency toward restraint, but don’t you think this is probably not the moment to hold back? Especially if Credence’s intuition is telling him to do this, I think this situation merits spending our resources.”

“Yus,” Percival added, squaring his shoulders. “Credence has a gift for knowing what to do. I think we should listen.”

Her Majesty blinked. “Does he?” She rubbed at her face, looking tired. “Well, in that case, if you both feel that strongly, I’ll trust your judgement. You hardly ever speak so highly of anyone, Percival.” She inclined her head. “Go on, then, pour it on him. I suppose I can always sit through a long diplomatic dinner listening to hours of Gobbledegook in order to barter for another jarful.”

Finally! It was as if Credence had been subconsciously itching to do this ever since he’d picked up the urn in the first place, and now Seraphina’s words broke the last threads of propriety holding him back. In one sharp motion, he quickly pulled off the lid and handed it to Queenie.

And then, in a high arc of his arms, he upturned the urn over the doppelganger’s head. Water gushed out, clear and deeply satisfying, like a waterfall, drenching the man in the ropes. 

Something in Credence’s mind gave a sigh of relief. 

And so did the wizard in front of him. 

The captive sagged within his bonds, gasping, blinking rapidly against the water streaming down his face, dripping from his dark hair. His familiar dark eyes were no longer glassy but focused, his expression tired and strained. He grimaced in pain, looking down at the ropes binding him, his features _real_ again in a way they had not been before.

“ _Ow_ ,” the man said exhaustedly.

His voice was still Percival’s voice. His face was still Percival’s face.

“What…?” someone whispered.

And then the man was swaying, knees buckling, tired and injured and _still looking like Percival_ , and Credence didn’t think, just dropped the urn on the floor and reached out to catch him, to steady him, feeling overwhelmed. The man was weak with overexertion, his balance shaky, but he was unquestionably Percival, he was _another_ Percival, even if it didn’t make sense yet how that was possible. 

How could there be two?

“Seraphina,” the man croaked hoarsely, leaning heavily against Credence’s chest.

The Queen was gaping at him in shock, while the original Percival goggled, eyes wide with disbelief. 

“What on _earth?_ ” Her Majesty breathed, obviously thinking hard. “Not polyjuice at all, then. Merlin’s beard. You were cursed?”

“Imperiused,” the newly curse-free Percival panted, grimacing in pain. “Seraphina, I’m so sorry.” The cut on his cheek was sticky with blood, smearing against Credence’s coat. Oh, God, they’d hit him with so many spells! He must’ve been ordered by the curse to keep fighting back, not to surrender or falter even if he was injured!

Oh, it was too awful. 

Without second-guessing the consequences, Credence flicked his fingers and unraveled the ropes binding the man’s wrists, wrapping one of his newly freed arms over his own shoulder and helping him stand up a bit straighter. 

The new Percival looked at Credence in tired surprise. “Thank you,” he murmured. 

“But who _are_ you?” the original Percival cut in sharply, looking unsettled. He was frowning a bit at the cozy way his doppelganger was draped all over Credence.

The new Percival looked back at him solemnly, his expression achingly familiar. “I’m Commander Percival Graves,” he rasped. “I was captured and placed under the imperius curse on my way back from Fornolt last winter. Grindelwald used me as his pawn, forced me to spy for him in the palace, act as his mouthpiece and, more lately, his weapon. I was the one who caused the blast in the marketplace, and I... he ordered me to fight to the death if anyone ever accused me of working for him.”

Credence shivered slightly, horrified.

“But,” the first Percival said gruffly. “That’s not possible. I am Commander Graves. Therefore, you aren’t.”

Her Majesty made a noise of protest, looking between the two of them intently. “No. Clearly it’s not that simple,” she said slowly. “The Thief’s Downfall is infallible, Percival. He is under no disguise. Apparently there are two of you.”

The original Percival crossed his arms, scowling. “With respect, ma’am,” he said. “ _How?_ He can’t be me. First of all, I can resist the imperius curse.”

Seraphina tilted her head thoughtfully. “Yes, true. You’ve always had too firm an emotional anchor to be manipulated.” She turned to the new Percival. “How did he manage to get the curse to stick?”

“I…” The new Percival looked stymied. “I don’t know, ma’am. I tried to resist, but I couldn’t… I couldn’t remember how. I couldn’t feel my training anymore. The things I used to cling to, emotional memories, feelings of positivity and determination… it felt like they were missing, ripped out.”

Oh, Credence thought. It was slowly beginning to make a terrible sort of sense.

“Of course,” Queenie breathed, stepping closer. “He would’ve torn those feelings away from you, made sure you couldn’t resist the curse. Made sure he broke you into exactly the pieces that he needed.”

Both Percivals looked at her. “What?” the new one asked. “What pieces?”

An echo of memory was tickling the back of Credence’s mind, from those dreamlike frozen moments after he’d been fished out of the river, a half-forgotten whisper. _Bring him back, make him whole, join the pieces, heal the soul._

“ _Oh,_ ” Credence said thickly. 

There was a reason that the first Percival couldn’t do magic.

“He didn’t just transfigure and imperius you, first he must have split you into two people,” Credence said hollowly. “He made you into tools that would be more useful for his purposes. All your combat magic went into one half, all your dueling abilities and wandless spellcasting. But he wanted that half to do his bidding, so he made sure it was missing the most vital piece of all.” He looked at the original Percival. “The emotional anchor. The heart. _You’re_ the heart.” 

Percival’s eyes were wide and vulnerable. “I’m… what?” he whispered. “This is... come on… but I don’t remember any of this.” He swallowed, shaking his head in disbelief.

“He probably made sure of that. He took your memory of the spell, so you wouldn’t know. And then he transformed you and locked you up, just for good measure,” Credence went on, gaining confidence. “Because he didn’t want to risk the two halves meeting up again and ruining everything.”

Seraphina was nodding slowly, looking grim.

“It would explain why your mind has so many gaps,” Queenie said urgently. “They line up, I think, like a tear in a sheet of paper. What’s missing should all be filled in when we figure out a way to join you back together, seal up the empty holes.”

The two Percivals looked at each other hesitantly, with twin expressions of grudging curiosity.

“We will find a way to combine you, when all this is over,” Her Majesty declared, “but for now we have a much bigger problem. We don’t have time to stand around and talk much longer. Grindelwald is still at large.”

Right. 

Credence abruptly felt cold, all the way down to the tips of his toes. He felt as if he’d been plunged headfirst into a pool of dread, after the puzzled distraction of the last few minutes. He turned and squinted into the shadows under the balcony for Newt and Abernathy, straining his eyes into the gloom behind the columns.

“Percival, he must have been giving you orders and periodically refreshing the imperius, yes?” Seraphina asked briskly.

“Yes, ma’am,” the man replied, grimacing. “He started out by making me come visit him in the Waste every week to receive instructions. He would strengthen the spell each time, then sit back lazily while I carried out his commands. I think he liked the idea of me performing like a puppet, speaking his words; he found the whole thing tremendously entertaining. But his plans quickly grew too ambitious for only one pair of hands. He decided to take a more active role alongside me.” 

Her Majesty’s mouth was very tight. “I assume you mean he infiltrated the palace as well? In disguise?”

“I’m afraid so, Your Majesty.”

Credence, his mind beginning to twist in panic, could feel a scream bubbling up in his throat. Where was Newt? The shadows under the balcony were empty.

And then, heart plummeting down into his stomach, he realized he’d been a complete fool. 

Of course. Who else would have been an advantageous choice? Who had been in the perfect position to alter paperwork and forge the Queen’s seal? To falsify orders and intercept diplomatic correspondence?

“And which member of my staff has he been posing as?” Seraphina asked shakily. “Who has he disposed of and replaced?”

Credence felt sick, his head dizzy. How could he have been so _stupid?_ He knew what the answer was, before Percival had even opened his mouth to reply.

“Your secretary, ma’am,” the Commander said. “I’m afraid the real Abernathy is almost certainly dead. Grindelwald has been impersonating him for months.”

Seraphina looked like she was refraining from shouting or punching something, her nostrils flared and her fists clenched very tightly. “I see,” she said, anger and sadness thick in her voice. “Well. Right now we need to find him, and quickly, before he tries anything, takes a hostage, or –”

“Oh, it’s too late for that,” drawled a snide voice from the balcony above.

Credence flinched. The palace guards all had their wands pointed upward in an instant, the injured Percival forcing himself forward, but Grindelwald only laughed. He was leaning lazily against the gold railing, holding Newt, gagged and bound, by his side, his wand to Newt’s throat. His face was alight with glee, still wearing Abernathy’s features, although his hair was beginning to look paler, his eyes lighter. His disguise was wearing off.

“Merlin, that was excruciatingly boring,” the Wizard of the Waste sneered. “Watching you all put your earnest little heads together and painstakingly figure it out. Aw, go team! We did it!” He made a disgusted face. “Good grief, it was enough to make me want to puke.” He adopted a sarcastic simpering expression. “Percival, you’re the heart!” he said mockingly, rolled his eyes. “Com on. So drippy.”

The two Percivals were staring up at him in absolute hatred, keeping Credence shielded behind both sets of their broad shoulders. 

“And you didn’t even get it _right_. You missed the point entirely,” Grindelwald went on self-importantly, apparently enjoying the sound of his own voice too much not to explain everything. “What I really did was extract his magic from its pathetic emotional trappings; I purified his strengths by sifting out his weaknesses, tossed out all those squishy little feelings like pulp strained from a wine jar.” The wizard flourished a hand smugly. “His magic is much more useful this way, separate from its host, like an explosive ball of power I can wield in any direction I choose. Not that you understand anything about power, church boy. You’re just a dreary, boring little squib.”

Credence gritted his teeth, filing that information away for later. He’d never heard of a spell to split someone like that, but he fully intended to research until he knew exactly how to reverse it. Grindelwald was a fool for letting information like that slip. But, then again, he had no idea how much Credence truly was capable of.

“I must admit, I was surprised to see you yesterday looking young again, little church mouse.” The man was _still_ monologuing, foolishly confident. “Dear Newton must have figured something out, something I overlooked. He always has been such a brilliant boy. Mmm, but it can’t have been easy unraveling a layered enchantment like that, it must’ve taken some true devotion on his part. And look how you repaid him! By turning around and falling in love with the less useful Percival! Such a betrayal!” 

The Wizard of the Waste chortled triumphantly, looking gleefully at Newt, obviously expecting this declaration to sting. Newt had a gag in his mouth, but that didn’t stop him from glaring and trying to head-butt Grindelwald in the face. Unfortunately, the man dodged out of his way. “Now, now, I know you’re jealous, Newton,” the wizard said, mock-soothingly. “Poor dear, I sympathize completely. It must have been awfully tedious, watching those two fall in love. I’m curious, how _did_ they end up tongue-wrestling, anyway? Has the puritan boy got a bit of a thing for beasts?”

Credence stared up at him, feeling as if every atom in his body were on fire with anger. He wanted to charge up there and wrench Newt out of that horrible man’s disgusting clutches, but instead he tried to use his head, taking advantage this opportunity to observe whatever he could. Behind Grindelwald, he noticed that the tapestry of the Queen’s grandmother was pushed slightly to the side, and Credence could see part of a doorway revealed behind it, an unlit passageway with steep stairs leading upward.

“Hmm,” the wizard said, narrowing his eyes. He seemed to be growing disinterested the longer Credence stayed silent in the face of his taunts. “And _you_ , Seraphina,” he said with relish, selecting a new victim. “You were such a supreme disappointment. So utterly pathetic, holding out so long for peace when war would’ve answered all your problems! I gave you so many opportunities that you were too dim-witted to take, so many nudges and manipulation charms to steer you in the right direction, and yet still you failed to act!” He tilted his head. “All this work, and you didn’t even budge; it got terribly boring after a while. I mean, it was fun acting out the role of the flirty stuck-up secretary at first, but it did get a bit dull having to do actual work.” The wizard pulled his lips down in a pouty grimace. “Still, far better than pretending to be Percival, that would’ve been dreadful! I’d have to be grim all the time, act like I have an allergy to fun. Practically torture.”

“You _snake_ ,” Seraphina fumed.

“Yes, yes, I know, you hate me,” Grindelwald said dismissively. “But only because you’re blinded by your own ridiculously narrow sense of morality. Why can’t you see? All of this was necessary, all of it was in service of a larger goal. I was doing something _good_ for this kingdom. A rebirth, a purge, for the greater good! We could’ve stopped pampering the no-majes, made ourselves a paradise, an empire of magic, something truly wonderful. We, the rulers, could have been worshipped! Adored!” An insane light was shining in his eyes, a fanatic enthusiasm. “I was so close! I nearly had you, you have to admit it. If Newton and those idiotic Goldsteins hadn’t interfered this morning, those missiles I approved would be destroying the Myrian border towns by now. We could’ve had a counter strike by midday, and total calamity by teatime.” He let out a dreamy sigh, pondering his fantasy apocalypse.

“But you failed,” Seraphina said smoothly. “Just like you always will fail. While I have strength in my arms and breath in my lungs, and loyal guards at my side, we will protect this kingdom and stand against –”

“Yes, yes, do shut up,” Grindelwald said, sharp and annoyed. “For Merlin’s sake, I am so sick of your stupid noble speeches, do you know how many of those I’ve had to listen to in these past few months?” He rolled his head on his neck, regaining his composure. When he looked down at them again, his smug confidence was back. “I may have been thwarted in one respect, but there’s more than one way to be victorious. For instance,” he giggled, “I very nearly got to watch you execute one of the Percivals, thinking he was me, which would’ve been terribly entertaining, don’t you think? They can’t exist without each other, you see. If one of them had died… _poof!_ No more other half. Ooh, the looks on your faces would’ve been priceless, I’m sure.”

Credence gritted his teeth. Grindelwald looked very little like Abernathy now, his hair turned white-blonde and his smooth pale face back to the same ageless features that Credence remembered, cruel and haughty.

“And now,” he said languidly. “I have captured something I’ve wanted for a long time. A heart I would’ve stolen many years ago if my past self hadn’t been so weak and sentimental.” He smirked. “And on that note, I think it is high time for me to go enjoy the spoils of my victory. Adieu, little worms. I’ve had enough of this place, and I’ve got more interesting things to do than bandy words with all you idiots.”

He raised his wand, and Credence braced himself, panicked. Something seemed to be happening to the shadows in the room. They were growing thicker, darker, coalescing into hooded figures, pouring out and multiplying, oozing from the cracks in the walls, pouring from the black paint on the starry ceiling in a hissing mass of specters.

“And because I am so generous,” Grindelwald drawled. “I think I’ll leave you a little party favor! You'll love it, it's to die for. And for those of you that survive it, don’t you worry, I’ll be back. And I can promise that you won’t see me coming until it’s too late.”

And then he brought his arm down in a slashing gesture, and the mirrors on the walls all exploded in a sharp smash of sound, filling the air with tiny sharp missiles. Someone was screaming, and Credence was dropping into a crouch, covering his face, panicked. But the feeling of glass pricking his skin never came. 

When he dared to look up again, he found himself pressed beneath both Percivals, their bodies shielding him from harm. Across the room, several soldiers had conjured a glowing shield charm over Her Majesty, and Tina was sheltering Queenie with a luminous umbrella.

And the balcony was empty. Grindelwald and Newt had disappeared into the passageway.

“No!” Credence cried in dismay, taking a frantic stumbling step toward the staircase. But he tripped on a broken bit of table, knocking his foot against the metal urn, which tipped sideways, rolling across the glass-strewn marble floor and sloshing one last trickle of water onto the dusty tile. The Percivals were there to steady him, one on each side, reaching for him in concern. They were like mirror images, a symmetrical matching set. Credence had a flash of déjà vu as he clutched at both of them, strong wrists and steady arms, two pairs of worried eyes.

“Newt –” he choked.

“Credence,” one of them said fiercely. “We’ll save him. We need to fight off these shadow-sendings first, but we’ll go after him.” He squinted up at the ceiling, the rowan walking stick held in his hand like a weapon. 

The shadow-men were coming closer, their shapes getting clearer. 

“Get ready,” the second Percival said, setting his jaw grimly. “I have a feeling that’s only the beginning. Grindelwald’s been working on accelerating their reproduction rate. They spawn like mad, unless they’re eradicated completely. Goldstein!” he called, “my wand!”

Close by, the palace guards had formed a protective circle around Seraphina, and Tina was clutching Queenie’s wrist, pulling her sister behind her into the relative safety of the group. Right. Queenie was still disarmed thanks to Grindelwald.

“Here!” Tina barked, tossing the black and silver wood through the air.

The second Percival caught it smoothly, swirling it gracefully through the air toward the approaching shadow-figures. “Let’s give them some light to eat up the darkness,” he said confidently. _Expecto Patronum!_ ”

Credence, relieved, watched expectantly. For a moment, nothing happened, and then there was a small puff of pale white vapor from the end of Percival’s wand, weak and misty.

“Oh,” the man said tightly. “Shit.”

“It won’t work,” Queenie called urgently, “not without a strong enough emotion.”

“Damn it,” the Percival with the wand said, looking over at his other half. “And that’s where you come in. But I’m guessing the wand won’t work for you.”

The first Percival grimaced unhappily. “Not without my magic,” he said gruffly. “Which you have.”

Not a good situation to be in when surrounded by shadow monsters.

“Commander, you two and Credence had better stay back,” Tina said anxiously, “we’ll take care of this.” She waved her wand, concentrating fiercely, and an elegant glowing greyhound erupted from the tip, pearly white and slender. It charged on long legs toward the shadows, sending several them skittering back. They didn’t seem to like how bright the light was, how pure and strong. The dog kept them at bay beyond its glowing paws, pacing back and forth.

The problem was, more shades were still coming, filling the air with so much darkness that it was becoming hard to see. The specters were multiplying like crazy, blocking the windows, snuffing out the torches, reaching with hungry fingers to devour all the sources of light. Tina’s greyhound had been joined by the Queen’s eagle and several other bright spectral shapes, but still the darkness pressed closer, trying to smother the glowing animals, make them dimmer. There were just too many shades, reproducing endlessly.

And it was _cold_. So cold, like the bottom of the river. It was starting to feel hopeless, a lost cause. Credence was filled with despair. They should just give up, shouldn’t they? What use was it to fight against the darkness? It was as useless as fighting the water, as struggling against the powerful current. The end was coming, they might as well accept it.

There was Queenie, tears flowing down her face, sobbing. Tina turned, trying to comfort her sister, her concentration wavering. The greyhound flickered and vanished.

“I can hear them all,” Queenie was crying. “All those bad memories, so much suffering. Oh, it’s so… it’s horrible. I just want it to stop.”

“No, no, Queenie!” Tina said, shaking her sister.

Queenie’s lips were blue, her tears freezing on her cheeks.

Credence’s eyelids felt heavy with cold. There were shadows all around him, thick and deeply black. One of them was reaching for him, its hooded head leaning toward him in something like curiosity. It came intimately close to his face, dark and empty, and he felt as if he might fall headlong into the pit of nothing under its hood, just tip forward and– 

“No! Credence!”

Something suddenly sliced through the spectral figure, something that made the creature shriek and squirm and dissolve, falling apart into the frigid air, turned back into harmless shadow.

Percival stood over him, the Percival with no heart. The shadows seemed less interested in him. He had the rowan staff in his hand and was wielding it like a sword, slashing it through the shades. They didn’t seem to like it, recoiling from the wood.

“Rowan,” Credence murmured thickly. Of course. “Good for protection.”

“Credence!” Percival called again, desperate. Something horrible was happening in the dim light of the dying patronus charms. Credence could see the original Percival on his knees, gasping, shadows swarming around him, _pulling_ something from him, as if they were feeding on his energy, his emotions. The Percival with the staff staggered slightly, clutching his chest.

“Save him,” Credence croaked. “Please, you can’t let him die. He's you.” That would be the worst possible thing. Then they would both be gone, and Credence would be all alone. He didn’t want to be alone. “Please,” Credence begged.

“Hold on. I’m coming back.” Percival turned, face pale, and Credence saw one last glimpse of him rushing to rescue his other self.

And then, like a curtain falling closed, the shades surged thickly around him and everything fell into total darkness, the last of the patronus charms snuffed out, and Credence was pitched into a river of despair.

All hope was gone.

Credence was sinking quietly beneath a writhing mass of shadows, drowning, surrounded by anguish, tugged at by a thousand hungry leeching mouths. All remaining happiness was devoured in an instant, gulped down by that awful searching appetite. Instead, he wandered lost through a dense thicket of sharp thorny half-thoughts, the crack of the belt slicing into his hands, Ma’s lash against his back. Modesty was crying and Credence was starving and Chastity had lost her smile forever. He was a boy again, terribly frightened, shut out of the church, and then he was an old man, collapsing on the hillside before he could ever reach the castle. Newt was gone, and so was Percival, gone forever, and Credence was being torn apart by wolves. 

It was worse than any of his darkest nightmares, as if all of them were coming true all at once. His terror was so heavy it weighed him down like a stone sinking to the bottom of a river, crushing him down, pulverizing his body into silty black sand.

He was nothing.

He no longer felt like a man. He had no arms and legs, just a gritty swirl of raw emotion, dark as tar, dark as a night without stars. He was floating, loose and alone, a raw red nerve helplessly lashing out against the onslaught of pain, the screaming oblivion of being consumed piece by piece, leaving only the worst parts of himself behind.

But even as his struggling faded to numbness and his awareness grew cold, he was also _angry_. So angry that even through the thick suffocating blanket of desolation, he could feel the emotion strong and hot, a simmering fury, steady like a low-banked fire. It wasn’t happy, and it wasn’t pleasant, it just _was_ , and the shadow-sendings didn’t seem to be able to take that from him, and so it grew brighter. It tasted like ash and ozone and scorched rock, like blood and sharp bitter herbs.

There was a roaring noise around him, and in listening to it he remembered he had ears. The roaring sounded like the wind flying in his face, savage and free, rushing under the moon. 

If he had ears, then perhaps he still had eyes, although everything was _so dark_ , just like when the current had pushed him under the water and held him there in its cold airless embrace. But he had survived that, he remembered. He had _survived_ , when all seemed lost. Just like all seemed lost right now.

Was this what hope felt like? He couldn’t quite remember.

It was hot, molten hot, too blistering for the shadows to consume. Yes. He thought this might be hope. 

He felt as if he could almost _see_ his hope, fueled by anger, flickering like the flames in the fireplace back at the castle, bright and cheerful. _Visualize the flames_ , Newt was saying, _imagine you can hear them crackling._

The shadows wanted a light to devour, didn’t they?

Well, Credence could give them light. In fact, he could give them so much goddamn light they could bloody well _choke_ on it. He was a star, and he would burn them out, expose them, give them nowhere to hide.

“Go away,” he croaked weakly, re-discovering that he had a mouth, a voice. 

The light was clearer now. He could feel himself shining, a pure white gleam. The shadows were retreating, like they didn’t want to touch it. But that wasn’t enough to satisfy his anger, not nearly enough. He didn’t want them only to retreat. He wanted them _gone_. He had things to do, someone to save, and they were in his way. This was unacceptable.

He sucked in a deep breath that smelled of rosemary and starlight, his lungs expanding like a bellows. 

_“GO AWAY!”_

The words issued out of his mouth like a clap of thunder, like the groaning roar of a lightning-struck tree consumed by fire. Or, perhaps he was the tree. There was fire all around him, inside and out, searing as hot as a comet streaking through the sky. He was a pure white flame, a shining ball of fury, too bright to look at, sending ripples of blinding light outward after the fleeing shadows. 

The hooded figures sizzled like steam, vaporized into nothing, and Credence gleamed even brighter in satisfaction. The room was empty of darkness, clean. 

Much better.

He was elated, jubilant, his heart alive with perfect long-burning fire. Time floated for a moment, in a way that felt strange and warm and good. Faintly, from far away, Credence thought he could hear singing, soft and sweet, a yearning call, beckoning him to rise into the sky. He could do it, he thought. If he tried hard enough, burned brightly enough, he could do it right now. The stars waiting for him to join them, to take his place in the sky. He was one of them.

But, he remembered dimly, he was also a human. And he had already given his heart away here on earth.

No, he would stay here.

He came back to himself slowly. The pure white light began to fade, dimming gradually, until he could make out the banquet hall once more. The palace guards were hunched on the floor, covering their eyes, and Tina and Queenie were slumped together, holding each other tightly.

“Credence?” one of the Percivals asked hoarsely. He was a few feet away, heaving himself up off the ground, his eyes covered, reaching blindly with his free hand. His other self was hunched nearby, groaning, the rowan staff discarded at his feet.

“What _was_ that?” the second Percival asked. “Some sort of supercharged lumos maxima? It was impressive, but it nearly scorched my retinas.”

Credence reached out and took the first Percival’s hand, smiling in relief. He concentrated for a moment, and his light diminished further, down to a more manageable glow for human nerves.

“I’m fine,” he said, as Percival blinked his eyes open. “But I need to go find Newt right now.”

Percival clutched Credence’s fingers tighter. “Absolutely,” he said. “Let’s go.”

But Credence reached out and cupped his face. “Darling,” he said, in the gentle way Newt liked to say it, full of love. “There are going to be a bunch of stairs, and he’s in danger.”

Percival swallowed, hesitating. “Oh. I… you need to go quickly,” he whispered hoarsely. “I see. Without me.”

Credence took a deep breath. “I know you want to protect me, but I need to do this. I need to protect the two of you, too,” he said firmly. “I’ve got to go face Grindelwald, and it looks like it has to be me alone. But I’m going to be fine.”

Percival looked at him with aching tenderness. “You are, aren’t you?” he said softly, reluctantly letting go of Credence’s hand. “You are going to be just fine. That wanker isn’t going to know what hit him. Go, save Newt. I’ll be right behind you, moving as fast as I can.”

Credence nodded, stroking the man’s hair back from his face. 

And then he took off at a sprint toward the staircase leading up to the balcony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaaaah!!  
> No matter where I ended this chapter, it was going to be a rough wait for you all, just because this is the climax. Rest assured, I'm working on the next chapter as fast as possible :D
> 
> I can't wait to hear what you thought of that twist!!!!!!!! (although I feel a bit terrible for making Percy go through all of that)


	14. I Don't Want To Set The World On Fire

The climb up the stairs beyond the tapestry blurred past Credence in a sort of hyper-focused haze. His breathing was loud in his ears, fire and fury boiling hot in his veins, smoky and rich. At the end of the staircase was a heavy oak door, which swung smoothly open at the flick of Credence’s fingers; apparently Grindelwald hadn’t even bothered to latch it, confident that he wouldn’t be followed.

Past the door, Credence found himself in an alcove tucked behind several large potted trees. He was in a sunny corner of the glass-walled throne room. The sky beyond the clear ceiling was a bright deep blue, the sun now risen well above the hills to paint the floor tiles honey-gold.

And there was Grindelwald, like the world’s ugliest shadow, casting a blight on this beautiful morning. He was dragging Newt by the arm, muttering something under his breath, his face twisted in a triumphant sneer. Oh, how Credence hated him.

Newt was putting up a spirited fight, squirming and yelling through his gag, trying his best to kick Grindelwald in the shins and free himself from the wizard’s grip.

“None of that, now, dearest,” Grindelwald was saying smugly. He had his wand in his hand, that slender bulbous thing with the carved clusters along its length. “You aren’t going anywhere. I’m not letting you get away ever again. You’ll be part of me forever, consumed and digested, inside my very being, kept close to me for all eternity. Won’t that be nice?” His smile was horrible. “You should be proud that you are worthy of such an honor. Many others I would kill without a thought, but you are special; you deserve nothing less than to be used to fuel the future of this world. It is a _privilege_ for you to serve me this way, for you to give yourself to me.”

With new fervor, Newt continued to struggle, his expression one of revulsion and horror. Credence could relate.

“That’s disgusting,” he said flatly, stepping out of the alcove and into full view.

The flinch Grindelwald gave at his sudden appearance was gratifyingly violent. “What–” The Wizard of the Waste whirled around, yanking Newt in front of him, wand pressed against his throat. “Stop right there!” he demanded. Upon seeing that the intruder was Credence, however, he seemed to relax slightly. “Oh, it’s just you, dreary church boy. How did you get up here?” Sneering, he glanced at the secret door back down to the banquet hall, hidden among the plants, perhaps searching for any sign that Credence had come with backup. “I thought my shadows would’ve eaten your soul by now, defenseless as you are.” His eyes narrowed. “How did you manage to escape them?”

Credence deliberately ignored his question, taking a step closer. “You’re going to let go of Newt,” he said carefully, and his voice was steady and calm. Somehow, after the gasping horror of facing all the darkest parts of himself in the banquet hall just now, Credence had no fear left to spend on this miserable man. Grindelwald wasn’t frightening, just twisted and awful and gross.

The Wizard of the Waste looked amused. “You’re making demands now?” he snickered. “I’ll let go of him, or what, you’ll _bore_ me to death? Such a stupidly courageous little fool! I could crush you like a leaf under my shoe, and here you come waltzing up to me as if you have any hope of preventing me from doing as I please! Just because you escaped my shadows, it doesn’t mean you have any hope of stopping me. Tell me, did Percival sacrifice himself so you could escape, guard the passageway and fall on his sword for you? Oh, I can picture that so easily, he has such an insufferable martyr complex.” 

Newt made a soft anguished noise through his gag, his face pale. Credence tried to reassure him with a wordless look of determination that Percival was fine.

Unfortunately, Grindelwald seemed to pick up on this as well. “Hmm,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “Or maybe not. Just in case, I’d better seal the door behind you. Nobody will be interrupting us now.”

There was a muffled bang from the secret passage, and the other doors around the room gave a final-sounding squelch, as if the gaps around each door frame had been glued shut with wet mortar. 

They were truly alone. But Credence had been expecting that.

He took a deep breath, smoothly stepping forward. “You will let go of Newt,” he ordered conversationally, twitching his fingers with intent, “or I will make you let go of him.” He pictured the ropes around Newt coming undone, tried to spell them to unravel, but they must have been enchanted to withstand such things, because they stayed stubbornly twined around his wrists. 

“Oh, will you?” Grindelwald asked lazily, still gripping Newt’s arm. “Mmm, I do enjoy a bit of overconfidence in someone I’m about to cut down to size. What on earth are you going to do? You are an untalented nobody, and I am as eternal as the sun, as mighty as a _god_. I am powerful beyond what your tiny mind can comprehend. This is completely ridiculous; I ought to simply kill you where you stand.”

Credence took another slow breath. “You could try,” he said.

Newt was staring at Credence, wide eyes frightened but determined. He gave a twitch of his head, a minuscule nod. 

“I could _try?_ ” The Wizard of the Waste said in shock, then dissolved into uproarious laughter, throwing back his head in helpless mirth, his wand drifting distractedly away from Newt’s throat. Carefully, Newt shifted a little, twisting in Grindelwald’s grip. He seemed to be trying to show Credence his bound hands.

“Oh,” Grindelwald gasped, when he’d gotten his breath back. “Oh, that’s priceless. You’re so delusional, I can hardly handle it. You are as tiny as an ant, and I have only to step on you to squash you into a sad little smudge, and yet here you are facing me alone, and you aren’t even afraid! It’s almost impressive, I must say. But you have no chance, you little squib. I’ve got more power than you could ever dream of. I have sunk my teeth into this world and made its magic my servant for far longer than you have been alive, and even in your wildest dreams you couldn’t begin to grasp how far I’ve bent it to my will. I’ve changed the face of the earth, grasped hold of eternity, made nature mine to command.” 

He was really gathering steam, enjoying the sound of his own voice. Unnoticed, Newt twisted a bit more. He had something tiny and green clasped in his fingers. 

“I’m no longer the mortal man I used to be. My body has been augmented by so much power I can feel it in every heartbeat!” 

_Oh_. The little green thing was Annabelle’s cocoon! Newt couldn’t whistle with the gag in his mouth, couldn’t summon her out to help him.

Grindelwald was still droning on, oblivious and self-important. “I’m on the brink of stepping past the boundary of immortality, I’m–”

“You’re an idiot,” Credence cut in, taking another stride forward.

The Wizard of the Waste gave him a sharp look of annoyance at the interruption. “You _dare_ trivialize me, you stupid little worm? I have achieved the _impossible_. The vastness of life is at my fingertips.”

Credence pressed his lips together. “Not really,” he said. Newt shifted his weight, readying himself to spring into action, though Grindelwald was too distracted to notice. “This isn’t life,” Credence said simply. “This, what you’re doing, it’s only a sham of an existence, a pantomime. Just because you aren’t dead, it doesn’t mean you’re alive. You may have been born a man, but you’ve become a greedy shadow, a walking corpse, dead in all the ways that matter.”

Grindelwald’s face was beginning to turn a splotchy red, his pale eyes flashing with anger. “Mmm. Fancy words,” he spat. “Have a care, church boy, your show of bravado is growing less and less amusing. The sooner I lose my patience with you, the sooner you lose everything. Now, tell me something useful. How did you get away from my conjurings? Your answer will buy you another moment to live.”

Shrugging, Credence took another step. “I destroyed them,” he said. The Wizard of the Waste’s face twisted with skepticism. “It was easy,” Credence went on. “They were never meant to be here, they’re unnatural, forced into existence by your corrupted magic, only half-real. They cling to the shadows, hiding from the light of the sky, devouring and scrambling and pretending to be alive, but they don’t truly belong. They can’t survive here, they are fake, incompatible. All I had to do was expose them to the raw forces of this world and they crumbled back into nothing.”

Grindelwald’s expression was turning quite ugly, a look of incredulity and impatient scorn. “What?”

“They take after their maker,” Credence said calmly, remembering all the things Ariel and Newt had told him about the Wizard of the Waste’s warped existence. “You are no more alive than they are, like a lingering echo of a lost soul. A creature gnawing miserably on something it can’t have for its own. Love and happiness, the warmth of life… they’ve passed out of your reach. You steal the vitality from others, but you’re only a coward and a thief, committing the desperate act of someone so afraid of himself he would rather be corrupted into an unfeeling monster than face the things he’s lost.” 

There was a muscle twitching in the madman’s cheek, a hateful twist to his lips.

Credence clenched his jaw. “I pity you.” Those final words wrenched themselves out of him, stark and honest. Even in the midst of his blazing hatred, it was true.

The Wizard of the Waste’s mouth fell open, his eyes flaming with absolute rage. Silently, Newt gave a jerk of his head. Time to move.

“ _Pity_ me! You fool, you think you can speak down to me, as if I were not miles above you?” Grindelwald shrieked, inhuman and truly insane. The man took a menacing step toward Credence, distractedly letting go of Newt. “ _I am immortal!_ You should worship me, you stupid little–”

But Newt and Credence sprang into action before he could finish. Credence whistled sharply as Newt kicked Grindelwald hard in the shin, then stomped on his foot with a sickening crunch. The Wizard of the Waste howled in pained shock, while Annabelle erupted out of her cocoon in a blur of flapping electric blue wings and green spines. She swooped around Newt, sharp little talons slicing through the ropes binding his hands, then descended on Grindelwald with a raspy hooting screech, diving at his head. He bellowed, trying to swat her away.

“Newt!” Credence shouted, reaching for him.

The next second, however, things got very loud. There was a sudden banging on the sealed door, probably Percival trying to get inside. Annabelle was distracted by the noise; she twisted, confused, flapping higher. Grindelwald managed to duck under her, face twisted with fury, and backhand Newt hard across the face, simultaneously sending a hot twist of magic crackling toward Credence. He found himself slammed backward, pain exploding in his sore shoulder as he collided with one of the potted plants, knocking the breath from his lungs.

When Credence scrambled to his feet again, fighting for air, Grindelwald was bellowing something and pointing his wand at Annabelle as she flew past.

“Avada–”

“ _NNNNN!_ ” Newt let out a muffled scream of pure panic through his gag and flung himself at the wizard, crashing into him and wrenching the madman’s wand out of his hand. The unfinished spell sputtered in a shower of green sparks, shooting harmlessly off in the wrong direction. 

“Credence! Credence, are you alright?” Percival was shouting through the sealed opening. There was a loud thump, then a splintering noise. He sounded as if he were trying to break down the door.

But Credence was distracted by Grindelwald snarling, a desperate animal sound. He and Newt were still struggling, hitting and scrabbling at each other, fighting over the wand, too closely entwined for Credence to cast any spells without hitting Newt by accident. Annabelle was still screeching, confused, a frantic smear of blue zooming distractedly around both wizards’ heads, dangerously close to their flailing limbs.

Credence, unsure what to do, let out a warbling whistle, luring her back into his hand and out of the way, tucking her cocoon safely into his pocket.

“That’s _mine,_ you unworthy little thief, _accio_ ,” Grindelwald was shouting, seizing Newt by the throat, groping with his outstretched arm, trying to summon back his wand. But the wand seemed quite happy in Newt’s grip, staying firmly in his hand as he tried to shove and kick Grindelwald off him. 

“Mmf!” Newt cried through the gag, attempting to knee Grindelwald between the legs.

“ _No!_ You can’t have it, you don’t deserve it. The elder wand’s power is _mine!_ ” The Wizard of the Waste was almost maniacal, flecks of spittle foaming at the corners of his mouth. He slammed Newt’s head and shoulders hard against the floor, pinning him down and drawing a long obsidian knife from his pocket, the volcanic glass shimmering in the sunlight.

Credence’s blood ran cold. “No,” he said, lips numb, staggering forward. 

But Grindelwald flicked his hand toward Credence, whose legs locked magically into place, frozen like a statue. Helpless.

“You just had to ruin everything, didn’t you,” Grindelwald hissed down at Newt, who was blinking sluggishly, dazed from hitting his head. “I have to win back its loyalty now.”

“Credence!” Percival sounded like he was getting closer to breaking down the door. There was a noisy grinding and crunching of wood.

But Credence, horrified, didn’t have any attention to spare for anybody but Newt, trapped and vulnerable.

“We don’t have time for the full ritual,” Grindelwald was saying. “Your heart won’t be as potent this way, but at least it will be something.” He smiled, a grimacing monstrous expression. “And when you’re dead, the wand will remember I am its rightful owner.”

Credence strained against the spell holding down his motionless legs, sharp desperation giving him a rush of power. The spell was strong, but Credence’s will was stronger. 

Knife in hand, the Wizard of the Waste raised his arm over Newt’s chest.

“NO,” Credence said in a voice made out of fire, raw and charred and full of smoke. He flung out a hand, and a crackling ball of flame went streaking through the air to slam hard into Grindelwald’s side. It hit him with enough force to knock him off of Newt and send him skidding clear across the room, where he made a satisfying _thud_ as he collided with the steps at the base of the throne and lay there in a crumpled heap.

Credence gritted his teeth and clenched his hand into a fist, feeling his magic flare inside him, sparking ash and sizzling ozone, his heart pounding with anger. The spell trapping his legs broke with a quiet pop, slippery and weak as a soap bubble, and he rushed forward to Newt’s side.

The Wizard of the Waste groaned weakly, gasping and trying to get up, but Credence didn’t care about him. “Newt,” he said desperately. His frantic fingers untied the gag around Newt’s mouth, gently easing it out from between his lips. “Newt, are you alright?”

Newt struggled to sit up, clutching at Credence’s fingers. “Darling,” he said thickly. “M’fine. Got a hard skull.” But he seemed slightly woozy, the side of his face red and sore where Grindelwald had punched him earlier. His voice was hoarse, and the gag had left a painful-looking red crease mark on either side of his mouth.

It all made Credence very, very angry.

He helped Newt to his feet, tucking the wizard into his side, glaring over toward the madman on the floor. Grindelwald had managed to lever himself up and wandlessly extinguish the flames from Credence’s fireball, leaving the shoulder of his coat an ugly charred mess. He remained out of breath, face pale with shock and a tiny flicker of fear.

“How did you do that?” Grindelwald panted slowly, standing, his expression uncomprehending. “What was that? You don’t have any magic!”

Credence was tired of this. His eyes were hot, scorching and crackling. “Don’t I?” he asked. He pointed his finger at the knife still in Grindelwald’s hand. It melted obediently, molten hot glass dripping down the wizard’s fingers. 

“ _WHAT?_ ” Grindelwald screamed. He yelled as the obsidian burned him, flicking his wrist and vanishing the hot dripping glass. The skin beneath was painfully red and blistered, and his face was full of desperate anger. “How? How did you hide from me? This is impossible. I checked. I _checked!_ ” he hissed. “You were nothing, I made sure of it!”

Credence glared at him. He could feel himself burning with fury, burning with hope. Newt was at his side, warm and real. And Grindelwald was just a hateful shadow. “You saw only what you expected to see. My mother outsmarted you,” Credence said, taking some pride in the words. “She made sure that you wouldn’t be able to detect my power, you’d never sense what was right in front of you.”

Grindelwald’s face twisted into a confused sneer. “What? Your mother?” he asked spitefully. “That no-maj witch-hating zealot? She–”

“No, not her,” Credence interrupted. “My real mother, of course. She left me with her protection, a spell to keep you from recognizing me, no matter how hard you tried.” He squared his shoulders. “She knew you would want to kill me, steal my power. Just like you did to my father.”

With hungry intensity, the Wizard of the Waste tilted his head, staring at Credence as if seeing him clearly for the first time. “Your father?” he asked. “And who was your father? You’ll have to remind me, I’ve lost count of how many little fish I’ve eaten to become king of the ocean.”

Credence scoffed, disgusted. “You’re not king of anything,” he said.

Grindelwald narrowed his eyes, flexing his fingers. “Oh, I beg to differ,” he said, low and feral. “I have walked past the edge of your humble imaginings and stepped out of this world. I am more than a man, I am a force you have no hope of understanding, no matter how many impressive party tricks you’ve got hidden up your sleeve. Now, tell me, who was your father, a traveling magician? It’s so easy to find low-caliber wizards to strip of their magic on the road,” he smirked.

At Credence’s side, he could feel Newt clutching his coat, the Wizard of the Waste’s wand still in his hand. Meeting Newt’s eyes, Credence tilted his head. “You think I should tell him?” he asked quietly, pointedly ignoring Grindelwald for the moment. 

Newt managed a small smile. “Might as well,” he murmured. “Your light will give you away soon enough.” 

Looking down, Credence realized he was shining just a little bit, out of triumph and anger and relief, a glimmer of light on his skin, his hair. He couldn’t really help it, not with his heart pounding so hard and Newt so close to him, warm and alive and so wonderfully brave.

When Credence looked back at Grindelwald, he felt very calm. “Actually, my father was a star,” he said, hugging Newt closer. “And apparently I am too.”

Like oil sliding down a plate, the smirk dropped right off of Grindelwald’s face, leaving him looking suddenly and utterly shaken. He seemed to have been struck dumb, stunned and wide-eyed, his expression curdling like sour milk. “What?” He asked quietly. His face was ashen, his breathing harsh and labored. “But–”

 _Crash_.

There was a deafening splintering from the alcove behind them, the door giving way. “Credence, I’m coming!” Percival shouted. Footsteps pounded along the floor, and Percival was suddenly there, both Percivals, one of them flinging his arms around Credence and Newt, shielding them with his body, while the other brandished his wand at Grindelwald. Credence felt weak with relief. Percival was here, and Newt was here, and they were all going to be alright. His chest was warm with hope, achy and hot with relief, and he was shining steadily, an unmistakable glow like a lighthouse in a storm.

“You alright?” Percival asked.

Credence’s reply, however, was drowned out by Grindelwald, who seemed to have lost his mind completely. 

“A star!” he yowled, eyes dazed and wild, his expression feverish. “You were a star, you were a star all along, I could’ve eaten you, I– _No!_ ” he screeched, banshee-like, clawing at his hair. “No, no, no, no, no! I could’ve _taken_ you, I had you at my mercy, your heart was _mine!_ ” he croaked, face blotchy and twisted and insane. “It _is_ mine! I will live forever, young and beautiful, and all of you will worship me, I demand it!” He scrambled forward, reaching for Credence with talon-like hands, trying to shove past Percival. He seemed to have forgotten all about his own magic in his single-minded fixation on Credence. “ _Give it to me!_ I need it! Oh, the heart of another star,” he cooed. “Such long life, such power. I _want_ it. _You!_ ” Grindelwald hissed, staring madly at Percival, bug-eyed. “Puppet-man! Give him to me and I will reward you, I will seal you back together with your other half! I’ll even let you have a tiny little bite of the star, a taste of eternity, if you just let me have–”

_Crunch._

Percival had calmly punched him in the face, sending the mad wizard staggering backward. The first Percival, the one clutching Credence and Newt, let out a low satisfied snarl.

And then there were more footsteps coming from somewhere close by, a whole stampede of them, and Credence thought he heard Seraphina’s voice shouting something, and with a loud _bang_ , the other doors to the throne room exploded open. Her Majesty came striding in, looking sharp and commanding with Tina at her elbow, a veritable army of palace guards behind her. Reinforcements from the garrison, most likely. The soldiers swarmed into formation to surround Grindelwald with their wands pointed directly at him, all of them standing ready to fight.

The Wizard of the Waste sneered at them, snarling and clutching his bloodied nose. He opened his mouth to scoff at their show of force, but before he could speak the Queen raised her arms. A thick wall of glowing magic surrounded the trapped wizard, a hemispherical prison, reinforced by each and every soldier in the circle.

“Finally,” one of the Percivals growled quietly.

“Mister Grindelwald,” Her Majesty said, in a very official voice. “It is my duty to pass judgment upon you for the crimes you have committed.”

Inside the ring of magic, the Wizard of the Waste spat a wet smear of red onto the floor, an ugly look of hatred on his face. “You think you can hold me?” he smirked. “Even with all your little soldiers, I am far more powerful than you.” He looked demented, completely out of his mind, but he was gathering his composure back, wandless magic crackling at his fingertips.

Her Majesty ignored him. “You have been found guilty of unforgivable magic, treason and murder. You have broken the terms of your exile to the Waste, infiltrated the palace under an assumed identity and tried to plot the downfall of the entire kingdom, you–”

She was interrupted by a horrible noise, like chalk dragging against a board. Grindelwald, grinning insanely, was scraping at the walls of his prison, tearing at it with his magic, leaving shuddering holes in the barrier. The palace guards shouted in dismay as the circle of magic vibrated and flickered.

“Better do this quickly, Seraphina!” the second Percival shouted, tightly clutching his wand and adding his power to stabilize the unsteady barrier. “He’s still strong enough to break out if we give him enough time!” 

Her Majesty gritted her teeth and continued. “In punishment for these actions, you will now be stripped of your magic.” She raised her arm once more.

Credence gulped.

Grindelwald just laughed. “You fool!” he cackled. “I have endless magic! You’ll never manage to take it from me!”

But Seraphina tightened her hand into a fist and let her arm fall, and something began to happen inside the circle, something that the Wizard of the Waste didn’t seem to like one bit. His magic was billowing around him, seeping out of his pores like a sickly grey mist, gathering in the air around him, unraveling and unwinding itself. Grindelwald snarled, staring around at it in agitated confusion. He turned, rolling his head on his neck, and then went charging straight at the line of soldiers, colliding with the glowing barrier with enough force to send several of the guards stumbling away. The circle of magic flickered again, wobbling slightly.

“Your Majesty,” Tina said urgently, her wand arm shaking, her face pale and sweaty. 

“Hold on, Tina, just a little longer,” the Queen replied, reaching over and grasping her free hand. “This will work, we’ve just all got to believe it. Synchronize our focus, unify our will. That’s it, breathe with me. You feel my magic? Together, we are strong enough for anything.”

Tina took a deep breath, and the circle seemed to glow suddenly brighter. The soldiers who had fallen over scrambled to their feet, renewing their efforts. Grindelwald himself was sweating now, fighting against the forceful tug drawing his magic out of him, teeth bared, his eyes wild. “No,” he gritted out. “No, that’s mine, all of it is mine, I earned it, I took it, it’s _mine_ …”

Something faintly shining slipped out of his chest along with the curling tendrils of magic. It was dim but twinkling, a soft white light.

“No!” Grindelwald tried to scoop it back toward him, tried to swallow it back down. But it was no use. It glimmered, insubstantial, and his grasping fingers passed right through it.

Then, Credence had to blink rapidly, because it looked like something very odd was happening to Grindelwald’s face. His features were distorting, sagging, his skin rapidly wrinkling itself. His hair grew thinner, bags forming under his eyes, his perfect complexion creased and spotted with age.

“No, _no!_ ” the Wizard of the Waste shrieked, staring down at his own hands. He sputtered, gasping, as his artificial youth melted away. The magic began to pour out of him faster, his back becoming hunched, his limbs weak and shriveled. “No, give that back! I need it! I am immortal! That star was mine, I hunted and caught it, it was mine, give it _back_ …”

With a sudden jolt of understanding, Credence looked closer at the small light that glittered inside the dome of the spell, faded like a memory, like a ghost. If stars had ghosts.

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!” Grindelwald was screaming without words now, slowly sinking the floor, his power deserting him. He was an empty husk, whining and grasping at the last shreds of his magic as they escaped. His exhales rattled in his lungs as he collapsed onto his side, extending shaking fingers weakly toward Credence.

“I need…” he whispered, struggling for breath. “Give it…”

He was old and frail, just a mortal man. And yet, he hardly looked as ancient as Credence had imagined he might. How many extra years had he really gained, in all his cruelty and greed? How much additional time had his horrible actions won for him? He must have wasted so much of his life trying to become immortal, when he could’ve been _living_ it instead. He would’ve been better off just growing old the natural way, Credence thought. Age really wasn’t so bad, if you had the right company.

“Oh,” Grindelwald croaked dazedly. “What a pretty star.” He tried to crawl closer, dragging himself along the floor. “So bright,” he gasped, reaching out toward the light shining out of Credence, squinting.

Credence could feel his hatred still, hot and aching, but it was distant now, a pointless exercise. This man was not frightening. He was pitiful. 

“Mister Grindelwald, you have been stripped of your magic,” Seraphina proclaimed. She waved her wand, vanishing the barrier, and the misty cloud of power trapped beneath it began dissipating into the air like a vapor, trickling away, perhaps going to join the trees and the wind outside. The small ball of starlight started drifting upward, twinkling warmly down at Credence for a moment before passing straight through the glass of the ceiling to rise into the sky, faint but visible. It rose into the bright sunshine, leaving the ground far behind, happy and free. 

Credence watched it, eyes hot. Somewhere, distantly, he thought he heard the stars singing in welcome.

The man that had once been the Wizard of the Waste hardly seemed to notice any of this, however. He was still huddled on the floor, frail and hunched, staring beadily in Credence’s direction. “I want that star,” he mumbled, scooting further toward Credence. “Such a powerful heart.”

“Well, you can’t have him,” the Percival with magic said sharply, keeping his wand trained on the old man. “His heart’s not available.”

No, it certainly wasn’t. Credence, pressed protectively between the other Percival and Newt, felt happiness bubbling through him, hot and hopeful. Percival glared fiercely at Grindelwald while Newt smoothed a hand over the collar of Credence’s coat.

“It’s true,” Credence said blissfully. “I’ve already given my heart away twice over. It's spoken for.” 

He was shining blindingly now, unable to hold it in, bright enough that the nearby palace guards were exclaiming and shielding their faces with their hands. Newt simply shut his eyes and leaned his forehead against Credence’s temple, wrapping his arms around him and twining his fingers with Percival’s, while the wolf-man buried his face in Credence’s hair.

Credence laughed, overjoyed, while the second Percival squinted at him in wonder. His light burned higher, pure and hot, and then Percival had to cover his eyes. The room grew dazzlingly bright and full, much like the banquet hall had been when all the shadows had vanished. Credence couldn’t seem to contain it. He didn’t want to contain it. 

Everything was going to be alright, and he was incandescently happy about it. 

The palace guards were holding on to each other, whispering in awe, eyes screwed nearly shut. 

But Grindelwald was not covering his eyes. “I want it,” he muttered, rising shakily to his knees, then stumbling on unsteady feet. He was staring directly into the light, reaching hungrily for Credence. But the starlight seemed to be burning him, sizzling against his skin, pure and clean, like a forest fire licking at a diseased tree.

The man was corrupt, after all. He had warped himself, changed his body, done unforgivable things. He was an unnatural creature, a monster who had lived as a parasite, a fungus. He couldn’t handle the raw untainted light of a star.

“You can’t have me,” Credence said. “Get back, I’ll burn you.”

“No, no, I need your heart, I need it,” the man whined feebly, still trying to grab for Credence despite the fact he was unable to see where he was going, not caring that his skin was blistering and crackling like wood turned to white sandy ash. “Give it to me!”

But even as he took another step closer, his body seemed to lose its integrity. He was a figure made of shadows and dust, decaying and unstable. 

Another step and he was tripping over feet made insubstantial by the fierce scorching light. And then one more step, and he was falling to pieces, crumbling to the floor in a pile of robes and pale grimy powder, just the sad remnants of something that had once been a man and had lost itself on the path to greed.

He was gone.

Credence, shocked, got his giddy happiness back under control. His light dimmed to a more manageable gleam, slowly retreating back under his skin, warm and flickering. Around the room, the palace guards rubbed at their eyes, squinting in confusion at the ashy lump on the ground.

“Is that…?” Tina breathed. 

“Grindelwald,” Newt said quietly. “It would seem that he’s dead.”

Apparently, it was as easy as that. 

There were a couple of muffled cheers, a slow ripple of amazement. Someone let out a whistle.

And then, with a jolt, Credence realized that something else was different. 

“Percival!” he exclaimed, looking around wildly. One of the Percivals was still holding him tightly, but the other one was nowhere to be seen. Hadn’t he been standing right there? Right near the pile of Grindelwald-dust? He was sure he had been there before the room filled with light.

“Oh!” Newt said. 

They both turned toward the Percival whose arms were wrapped around Credence. He was blinking dazedly, his mouth falling open. 

“Aah,” the man gasped, wincing. “I remember…” He grimaced, clutching his head. “Oh, Merlin, I remember everything. I remember trying to fight off the imperius curse, all those months without any control. And…watching myself _do_ things, destroy the market, arrest you. But I also remember being a wolf, being at the castle, I don’t…” He looked down in astonishment at the wand that had somehow made its way into his hand.

“You’re back together again,” Newt said softly. “Grindelwald’s spell must have died with him. Both halves of you are in one body.”

Percival’s eyes widened, and Credence felt his heart fill with elation. Well! That was unexpectedly simple. 

There was magic surging at Percival’s fingertips, a deep rush of power, making the air feel thick with potential. Credence could feel it coursing against him, through him. Percival’s magic reminded him of loyalty, warm fur in the night, safety and protection and courage, solid and steady, like the deep roots of a mountain under snow.

“Can you… can you feel that?” Percival asked. “I don’t know how it’s possible, but I think I’ve got your magic mixed in with mine. I can smell it, almost. Plants and earth and growing things,” he said, looking at Newt. “And wind and fire and lightning,” he breathed, leaning toward Credence.

Credence, beaming, clutched both of them closer. “I think that’s because we’re sharing all of it,” he said. “Like a coven does, I suppose. What’s mine is yours, because you are both part of me.”

“Oh,” Percival said, a little hoarsely. Newt’s lips were slightly parted, an expression of wonder on his face. There was also a dark bruise forming around his cheekbone. “Oh,” Percival said again, in a different tone of voice, one with a rasp of dismay to it. He cupped Newt’s face in his hand, running his thumb lightly over the wizard’s cheek. The bruise melted away, healed in a matter of seconds.

“Ah! Thank you, darling,” Newt said shyly. “That’s much better.”

“Don’t forget the back of his head,” Credence piped up. “Grindelwald smacked him into the floor.”

“That wanker,” Percival frowned, pulling Newt closer and gently stroking one large hand through his curls, looking for the injury.

“Yes, indeed,” Newt breathed, cheeks turning pink. He gave a sigh, body sagging, as Percival located the bump on his head and healed it with a gentle pass of his fingers. “Ooh, I didn’t even realize what a massive headache that was giving me until it went away.”

Relived, Credence pressed himself into Newt’s side, curling his fingers tightly into Percival’s coat. He felt suddenly bashful, too full of joy to know what to do with himself. Now that all the fighting was over, things seemed soft and bright and tentative, almost surreal. What was going to happen now?

Around the room, the palace guards were speaking in hushed voices, patching up those who were injured, some of them glancing curiously at Credence, Percival and Newt. 

Tina and the Queen were standing very close to each other, Tina’s eyes bright and Seraphina looking much less tired than before.

“Congratulations, ma’am,” Tina said, with a smile wide enough to dimple her cheeks. “The kingdom’s safe again.”

Seraphina just looked at her, beaming, reaching out to stroke a lock of hair behind her ear. “Well,” Her Majesty said, her eyes speaking volumes. “I suppose that means we’ve won.”

And then the two of them were kissing, and Newt was laughing with joy, and the guards were all staring, though not many looked surprised, and Percival was grinning as he conjured a broom and dustpan and swept Grindelwald’s remains away. 

 

Credence found himself back in the banquet hall at some point later, after the throne room had been set to rights. Time was moving lazily, strange and slippery and relaxed. Newt was gently massaging Credence’s stiff shoulder while they watched Percival help the guards clean up the mess he’d made under Grindelwald’s control, summoning the splintered pieces of the heavy wood tables back together. With a single wave of Percival’s wand, the shards of glass on the floor all rose delicately into the air, re-forming the enormous mirrors and settling back into their frames. Gosh, he was good with a wand.

Across the vast marble floor, a witch in a white apron had set up a makeshift infirmary and was busily looking over some of the injured soldiers. Queenie, wrapped in a blanket, was sitting on a conjured cot and nibbling a piece of chocolate while Tina fussed over her, Seraphina carefully conjuring more pillows to prop behind her back. Queenie was smiling, though her face was pale and streaked with dried tears.

“Those shadow creatures were hardest for her to handle,” Newt said quietly, following the direction of Credence’s gaze. “She had to experience everyone else’s despair on top of her own.”

Credence nodded, feeling awful. What a burden it must be, to have her gifts. But Queenie was so bright and courageous, willing to face each day with a mountain of invading emotions pressing down on her. 

There was a creaking groan as the ruined door was repaired and set back on its hinges. Percival nodded companionably to several of the guards, then came wandering back over toward Newt and Credence.

“What do you suppose will happen now?” Credence wondered aloud.

“Mmm,” Newt hummed. “The war is averted. I suppose the kingdom will simply go back to normal. Magic will stay secret, and nobody in the city will ever know how close we came to destruction.”

For a quiet moment, they digested this. It seemed so strange to imagine all the citizens on the streets below going about their normal day, oblivious to what had transpired this morning. Like it had all been a bad dream. 

“And Percival,” Credence said, as the man rejoined them, tucking his wand into the pocket of those too-tight trousers. “Are you going to go back to living in the palace? Resume duties as Commander?” He felt a bit heartsick at the thought. “You must’ve missed the city during all that time you were stuck with us up in the hills, away from home.” 

But Percival looked thoughtfully back at him, dark eyes as solemn as ever. “No,” he said simply, brow furrowed. “I think… this isn’t home anymore.” He stepped closer, taking a deep breath. “Things have changed, I’m not who I used to be. My priorities are… newly rearranged.”

Credence’s eyes widened. “Oh,” he said shyly. “Then… would you like to stay with us?” he asked, voice thick with longing. “At the castle?”

Looking endearingly hopeful, Percival glanced between the two of them. “I… yes, if you’ll have me,” he said, low and hoarse. “Newt? Do you mind me sticking around?”

“Mind?” the wizard replied incredulously. “Darling, don’t be silly, you absolutely must stay. The castle would feel empty without you. Isn’t that right, Credence?”

Credence, nearly speechless with joy, couldn’t help but throw his arms around them both. “Yes,” he breathed fervently. “Please stay. I want to live with both of you.”

“You see?” he felt Newt murmur to Percival, voice vibrating against his cheek. “You belong with us. Look at that, love, he’s shining again.” He stroked Credence’s hair.

“I am?” Credence asked, his reply muffled into Percival’s shoulder. He disentangled himself, blinking down at his hands, which were glowing with a faint steady light. He beamed at both men, happiness flaming inside him, joyful and sunny. “I am!” he declared, laughing in delight. “I’m probably going to shine all the time now. I’ll be so bright you can use me as a reading lamp. And you won’t be able to sleep! You’ll have to shut me behind a curtain just to get some rest!”

They were both grinning back at him. “Oh, I’m sure it won’t come to that,” Newt replied. “If we really need to, we can just wear blindfolds at night, can’t we, Percival?”

“I’d say so,” the Commander replied smoothly, amusement crinkling around his dark eyes. “It’s a small price to pay to keep company with such a beautiful star.”

“Oh,” Credence huffed, blushing. 

Percival looked like he might’ve wanted to kiss that blush, if they hadn’t been interrupted by a crisp set of footsteps and the regal voice of the Queen. “I suppose I ought to assume that you will not be returning to your post, then,” she said.

Reluctantly, Credence turned. Seraphina was watching them with a resigned look on her face and a tiny smile tugging at her lips.

“Ma’am,” Percival said professionally, smoothing out his composure. “I…” He frowned. “It pains me to resign, but I…

“Oh, stop looking so stiff. It’s alright,” Her Majesty said, cutting him off. “I was getting worried about you anyway, these past few years. You were working yourself too hard. And after what you’ve been through this year… well, if anybody deserves an early retirement, it’s you, Commander. You’ve served this kingdom well.”

He nodded to her dutifully. “Thank you, ma’am. Please know that you can call on me in any emergency. I’m still a soldier at heart, and I will come if you need me.”

“I appreciate that,” the Queen said, with a small grin. “It’s some consolation, considering how hard it’ll be to replace you.”

Percival’s mouth twitched. “Oh, I don’t know,” he said dryly, glancing over at Tina, who was talking animatedly with a group of guards, one hand on Queenie’s shoulder. “I don’t think it’ll be that difficult to find a suitable candidate.”

Seraphina’s smile grew. “No,” she said. “I suppose it won’t.”

Credence bit his lip over a beaming grin.

“Mister Scamander,” Her Majesty said next, “I told you before that I would owe you an apology. So, here it is, and you’d best enjoy it, because I don’t do this often.” She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry, you were right. It was worth looking harder for clues as to what was happening here, and you were correct to question this senseless war. I should have listened, and I’m sorry that I didn’t notice the deception right under my nose. I regret that I was so blinded, and that I allowed you and your companion to be mistreated in my palace.” Stiffly, she held out a hand.

“Ah,” Newt said, reaching out and shaking it. “Well, I do appreciate that. But, in your defense, I suspect you were under a couple of mild manipulation charms. Probably made it hard for you to think clearly. And I suppose I don’t really have a spotless history of following the rules, so–”

“Merlin’s beard, Scamander,” Seraphina huffed. “I’m trying to be penitent, stop undermining me.”

“Right,” Newt replied, blinking awkwardly, his mouth quirked in a half-grin. “Yes, fair enough. I accept your apology. And I’m sorry I took so long to come and see you. That was selfish of me. Wish we’d sorted this whole thing out sooner.”

The Queen inclined her head slightly, a rueful twist to her lips. “So do I,” she said. “But, late or not, the fact remains that you were indispensable in defeating Grindelwald. Both of you.” She was looking at Credence now, too, and Credence didn’t quite know what to do with himself in the face of her assessing gaze. “I barely know who you are and where you came from,” she announced. “But I owe you a favor.”

It took Credence a moment to be sure he had heard correctly. The _Queen_ thought she owed him something?

“Me?” he asked, feeling ridiculous. “Oh, I’m just… I’m happy I could help,” he stammered.

Seraphina looked at him with a glimmer of amusement. “I’d say you did more than help,” she declared. “If I’ve understood Percival’s stilted explanation correctly, you saved his life, broke his curse and revealed part of Grindelwald’s plot, and then showed up here and prevented us from blundering into imprisoning the wrong man, and singlehandedly saved us all from those awful conjured shadow creatures.” Gracefully, she reached out and placed a hand on Credence’s arm. “Thank you,” she said.

Credence swallowed. “You’re welcome, Your Majesty.”

“Oh, you might as well call me Seraphina, all things considered,” she said, eyes crinkling. “And what should I call you?”

“I’m Credence,” he replied, still feeling a bit tongue-tied.

“Well, Credence, you certainly seem like you’re on the path toward an interesting future. Especially with these two along for the ride,” she said, jerking her chin toward Percival and Newt. “I hope you’ll visit the palace again when things are more peaceful so that we can talk more. You’re welcome here anytime,” she said elegantly. “And let me know if there’s every anything I can do for you. I mean it, just say the word. Don’t be shy about it.”

Clumsily, Credence nodded. “I will, ma’am. Um, I mean… Seraphina.” Gosh, that sounded so strange, calling the Queen by her first name. 

Newt grinned. “I have a feeling he’ll be asking you for something very soon, ma’am,” he said.

Seraphina raised her eyebrows. “Alright,” she said. “Well, I’ll do my best to grant it promptly. Things are going to be busy for a while; I’ve got to call a meeting of the council this afternoon, fill everyone in on what’s been happening. We’ve got soldiers to bring home from the border and a peace treaty to sign.” She sighed. “And then maybe I can finally take a nap.”

After one last regal nod, she went striding away toward the doors. Credence couldn’t help but think that a nap sounded awfully nice, especially one with Newt and Percival curled around him. But they weren’t quite ready to leave yet.

“Darling,” Newt said softly to Percival. “Aren’t you injured? We’d better have the mediwitch take a look at you. I know you’re very good at healing yourself, but some things can only be healed by a professional. I’ve noticed you wincing, got a couple of bruised ribs?”

“I suppose so,” Percival said gruffly. Reluctantly, he allowed Newt to tug him over to the witch in the white apron.

Credence took in a deep breath, looking around at the cleaned-up banquet hall. The sun was pouring in, warming the marble floor, gently wiping away the cold memory of shadows filling the room. He spotted Queenie, her cheeks pink and healthy again, softly smiling at him. He made his way over toward her, feeling warm and happy already, imagining their return to the castle. Jacob and Mira would be waiting for them, probably sitting in the kitchen hoping for news. And Ariel was no doubt waiting to scold them for taking so long, and all the creatures were waiting for their feeding, and the plants in the greenhouse were waiting to be watered, and the spellbooks in the library waiting patiently to be read, and the cookbook in the kitchen... everything was waiting. His life was waiting for him, back at home, and he was free to go live it.

He was _free_.

“Honey,” Queenie said, as Credence approached her cot. “Oh, I agree, it’s wonderful.” She reached out and took his hand as he perched himself on the mattress next to her pile of pillows. “You did it. It’s all going to be alright now.”

“I’m so relieved,” Credence admitted, squeezing her fingers. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Oh, yes,” she said easily, though she looked tired and a little cold, wrapped there in the blanket Tina had conjured for her. “I’m fine now. Just had a bit of a bad time with those shadows.”

Tina herself was a few feet away talking with several guards, immersed in conversation. Even so, her eyes darted often toward her little sister, every inch the protective older sibling. 

“She’s already stuffed me with chocolate, and I’ve told her I’m _fine_ , and yet she’s still hovering. Can’t help it, I suppose. She’s always looked after me,” Queenie said fondly. “Not that I’m complaining. It makes every part of life better, doesn’t it, having someone to lean on? Someone who looks out for you, who has your back for no other reason than that they love you?”

Credence nodded, feeling a soft curl of warmth around his heart. 

“Family,” Queenie whispered. “It was what kept me going, in all that darkness, when I thought I was going to break apart from all the pain I was hearing. I knew it was all going to be okay, because I have people who love me, people I love who I want to protect.” She carefully ran her fingers over Credence’s cheek. “Including you, of course.”

“Oh,” he said thickly. She thought of him as family?

“You’re one of us, sweetie,” she murmured, pulling him closer. “A Kowalski-Goldstein-Scamander.” Credence settled his head against her shoulder, closing his eyes in contentment. He was probably shining again, but he couldn’t help it. “Or, maybe I should say Kowalski-Goldstein-Scamander-Graves,” Queenie added slyly, tugging gently on his hair, and he blushed and hid his smile in her neck. “Well, whatever name you carry, you’re ours, and we’re going to look after you. Because that’s what families do. We protect each other and we try and make each other happy.”

Yes. That was what families did, didn’t they? Even in the darkest, dreariest times, they clung together, tried to make the most of what life had dealt them, shared food and stories and affection. And they always had each other’s backs. Nobody got left behind.

Abruptly, Credence’s eyes flew open. He sat up, heart pounding. He knew exactly what favor to ask for from Seraphina.

“Queenie,” he began. Oh, gosh, there was no time to waste. So much time had passed already. “I need to–”

But she was already nodding, cheeks dimpling with the force of her smile. “Yes, yes,” she said, flapping a hand at him. “Go on, don’t worry about me. I know what you need to do, it’s very important.”

Credence hurriedly rose from the cot, brushing his hair out of his face, looking around for Her Majesty, his mind rushing in circles. Would Newt be alright with this? 

“Oh, he’ll be alright with it.” Unsurprisingly, Queenie had heard his unspoken worry. “Of course he will. He already guessed this was what you’d ask for.”

“He did?” Credence said hoarsely, chest tight with emotion.

Queenie’s smile was soft and affectionate. “Honey, he knows your heart, and he knows this will make you happy. And that means he wants it as much as you do. So, _go_ , and do what you need to do.”

Breathless with hope, Credence squared his shoulders and nodded. And then he dashed off to find the Queen.

 

Two hours later, if anybody had been paying close enough attention, they might’ve felt a tingle of déjà vu. 

There were two people on the edge of the town square, standing in the same place they had been yesterday, though they both looked completely different than before. One was a man in a blue coat with copper curls, and the other was a young man with striking silver hair. The merchants at the market didn’t bother giving the strangers much thought, though if they had looked closer they might’ve found their faces somewhat familiar, in a vague sort of way. A third man was striding through the crowd to join the first two, emerging out of a food vendor’s booth, his stern brow softening into a happy smile as he drew near. He looked important, like some sort of government official, and he was very handsome. 

“Not as good as Jacob’s pies, but they’ll do,” Percival said, triumphantly showing Newt and Credence the hot packet of sandwiches he’d bought. “Figured it might be nice to have some food to offer when we get there.”

Newt smiled at him, while Credence tried to swallow down a thick lump of emotion. 

“Excellent idea,” Newt said soothingly. “Shall we?”

They avoided calling attention to themselves as they walked past the merchant booths, past the Queen’s statue. They were heading away from the palace toward an achingly familiar cobbled street that led steeply uphill, transitioning into a narrow dirt track as it climbed out of the heart of the city. Newt was humming while he walked, one hand absently resting on Credence’s back in quiet support, as if he could tell how nervous Credence was.

Oh, God, how was it possible that he had faced Grindelwald this morning with more confidence than he had now?

“Credence,” Percival said gently. “It’ll be alright. You’ve got a signed order from the Queen, so nobody can stop you. It’s going to be fine.”

Credence smoothed down the fabric of his coat, wishing he’d had time to neaten himself up more. Should he have re-dyed his hair, tried harder to look ordinary? The brown bark dye had washed off last night in the river, leaving him looking quite exotic. But there was no point in worrying about it now; they couldn't turn back. “It’s not that simple,” he said thickly. “I just… what if they don’t want to come with us?”

Percival gave him a soft look. “Why wouldn’t they? It’s clear to me they love you, you’ve told me enough stories to prove it. They’d follow you anywhere.”

Credence took a deep breath. “You’re right, I’m just getting anxious over nothing,” he said. “Newt, you’ll make sure not to let _her_ see any of your stowaways?”

“Of course, darling,” the wizard replied. “I’ve told Pickett we’re playing hide and seek. And Annabelle is sleeping off this morning’s excitement.”

They were climbing higher, taking a turn onto a short shabby lane with a dark grey church at the end of it, its thick windows and plain scrubbed porch just as stern-looking as ever. There was the wooden step where Credence used to scrape the mud off his worn-out shoes. He had to stop and stand there for a moment, trying to swallow past an old choke of bittersweet grief.

“Hey,” Percival said, very softly. “You want me to take care of this? You don’t have to see her if you don’t want to.”

But Credence slowly shook his head. “No, I… I can do this. I want this to come from me.”

The weather-beaten wood of the stair tread groaned as he stepped up onto the familiar porch, marching smartly up to the narrow doorway. Credence straightened his coat impulsively, then knocked on the door with three short raps.

It only took a moment for the door to swing open. It was much faster than he had been expecting, so fast that he had no time to brace himself for the achingly wonderful sight that filled the doorway.

“Hello, sir,” Modesty said, squinting up at him. “What brings you to our–” But here she paused, mouth falling open. “ _Credence?_ ” she squeaked.

“Hi, Mod,” Credence said through a throat that had suddenly become twice as tight. “I’m back.”

Like a sudden light in the darkness, her face was transformed, bright with an emotion too raw to name. “Credence!” she cried, flinging herself at him.

Credence let out an _oof_ as she collided solidly with his middle, wrapping her arms around his waist. He clung to her, folding himself all the way down to press his cheek against her hair, feeling her small fingers curling into his coat.

“Mod, I’m here,” he murmured. “I’ve come to fetch you.”

His sister’s face was buried in his chest, breathing shakily against his coat. “Chassy said you got old. You were that old man. I thought she was lying at first, but she swore it was you.” Modesty said unevenly. “We looked for you every day in the market, but you never came back.” She turned her face up to look at him, cheeks wet. 

Credence’s cheeks matched hers, hot and salty with regret. “I’m so sorry,” he said, ashamed. “I was lost at first, but I found a new home. And now I want you to come live with me. I should’ve done this sooner, Mod, I’ve missed you so much–”

“What is this?”

Of course she was here too. Ma’s voice pierced through him, cracked against his ears like a lash against an old bruise. She was looming in the doorway, small but enormous.

“Modesty, what on earth are you doing embracing a strange man? Stop that at once!”

Despite the time that had passed, she looked exactly the same.

“Ms. Barebone,” Credence said, the name tasting impossibly strange in his mouth. But he couldn’t even fathom calling her Ma, not anymore. “I am not a strange man.”

She stared at his face, and he saw the moment she recognized him, a flicker of soft surprise quickly swallowed up by fearsome icy disdain. “No,” she said stiffly. “You are worse. A turncoat, one who has walked out on God, on us, and now I suppose you are here to crawl back under my roof, or to seek shelter from some crime you committed?” She eyed Newt and Percival with stiff disinterest. “If this ungrateful boy has incurred any debts to you gentlemen, I will not pay for them. He is not welcome here. The girls and I do not recognize him as our family any longer.”

Credence cleared his throat, making no move to let go of Modesty. “Whatever imaginary sins you may accuse me of,” he said, “the girls are still my sisters, and I’ve come to take them away with me. I can provide for them, make them happy, offer them a better life than you can.”

“What?” Her face twisted in shock. Clearly, this was not what she had expected him to say.

“We have a comfortable home and plenty of room,” Credence said. “I’m offering a far preferable alternative to living here.”

The woman sputtered. “Absolutely not. The girls are staying, and that’s final. I don’t know what sort of immoral hovel you’re staying in, or with whom,” she said, now eyeing Newt with disfavor. She didn’t seem to know what to make of Percival. “But they’re not going with you.”

Credence gently stroked Modesty’s hair. She still hadn’t let go of him, sweet determined girl. Beyond Ma, through the doorway, he thought he saw a flash of movement on the stairs. Chastity had always been good at eavesdropping.

“I’m not asking your permission,” Credence said clearly, reaching into the pocket of his coat. “I’m informing you. The girls can refuse my offer if they would rather go somewhere else. But this isn’t up to you.”

The scroll he pulled out was impressively crisp, infused with a subtle anti-wrinkle charm. Seraphina’s signature was unmistakable at the bottom, her wax seal glossy and rich and official. _Rights of Custody_ , the page read, in curling pristine ink, _of Modesty and Chastity Barebone are hereby transferred to Mr. Credence Barebone, effective immediately, based upon the presentation of clear evidence that the home of Ms. Mary Lou Barebone is neither safe nor suitable for children. By order of Her Most Serene Majesty, Queen Seraphina Picquery._

“What is this nonsense?” Ma said weakly, staring in disbelief.

“A royal decree is hardly nonsense,” said Percival, in an intimidating tone of officiousness. “It was signed this morning by Queen Seraphina in my presence, following a private audience with Credence. His testimony was more than sufficient to convince Her Majesty of the truth of the situation. It is her decision that these children are to be removed from your care immediately.”

“But,” Ma hissed, “he is lying! He is entirely unfit to care for them. The boy is a lazy wretch, a sinner and a layabout. He would not keep them safe, nor guide them to a righteous path!” She was barely looking at Credence, only addressing Percival. Perhaps, based on his appearance of authority, she hoped she might be able to turn him into an ally.

She was wrong.

“On the contrary, ma’am,” Percival said crisply, his eyes full of carefully restrained fury. “Credence is an intelligent and well-respected hero who just saved our kingdom from ruin. He has the Queen’s unconditional favor, and has proven himself to be a man of courage and compassion. Modesty and Chastity will be a thousand times safer in his guardianship than they ever were under your roof, and they will be cherished and respected in ways you have grievously neglected to address.”

Ma’s face twisted with shock. “Well! You presume to know quite a bit about my household, _sir_ ,” she said coldly. “Might I ask who you are?”

Percival gave her a cool, unruffled look. “I am Percival Graves, Commander of Her Majesty’s army,” he said. “And I serve as her representative in this matter. Now, I need you to step aside, ma’am. We will collect the girls’ belongings, and if they consent to come with us, we will be taking them directly to our place of residence. If, instead, they wish to be placed with a foster family, Her Majesty has made arrangements for them to live with a pair of loving parents in the city with a daughter Modesty’s age. In either case, you will not be allowed to visit them, but they are at liberty to visit you if they choose to.”

Speechless, Ma stared at him.

“Ma’am?” Percival said, the picture of polite but immutable power. “Move aside, please. Their belongings are–”

“Already packed,” came a breathless voice from inside the church. Chastity, carrying a shabby cloth sack, squeezed her way through the doorway past Ma, her face pale but her eyes bright. 

“Chastity!” Ma gasped, appalled. “You disobedient girl, what on earth are you doing?”

“Leaving,” Chastity said simply, her voice hard as she stared at Ma over her shoulder. “You can’t possibly think we would want to stay.” Her face softened as she hurried out onto the porch. “Mod, I’ve got your bear and your clothes and your drawing things, is that all of it?”

Modesty still had her face mashed against Credence’s ribs, streaking his coat with tears. “Yes,” she said, voice muffled. She straightened up bravely, finally letting go of him, her cheeks streaked and blotchy. “Thanks.”

“Of course,” Chastity said quietly, reaching out to smooth a hand over Modesty’s hair. “Credence…”

Before she could finish, he had wrapped his arms around her, too impatient to wait, clinging like a child. Chastity had always been more reserved than Modesty, but she clutched him back with just as much desperation.

“I missed you,” Credence said helplessly.

“For goodness sake, Credence,” Chastity whispered. “I was beginning to give up hope. What was I supposed to tell Mod when we couldn’t find you? I was worried you were starving, that you were dead.”

“I’m so sorry,” he breathed.

She pulled back out of his embrace, businesslike, her eyes assessing his silver hair, his rich new clothes, so different from the boy he had been before. “Well, you’ll just have to make it up to us by explaining everything that happened,” she said, her observant gaze flicking over to Newt and Percival. 

Newt smiled encouragingly at her, and Percival inclined his head respectfully. 

“I will,” Credence promised.

“Are we ready to go?” Newt asked. “We’ve brought sandwiches for the road, in case you’re hungry.”

“But this is preposterous!” Ma said as the five of them turned to leave the porch. “You can’t take them away! Chastity, Modesty, I forbid you to take one more step!”

Credence could see Chastity’s hand trembling slightly on Modesty’s shoulder as she descended the stairs. Her back was straight, her expression confident, and yet he could see the same fear in her eyes that he’d felt that day he’d left. It wasn’t easy to leave your whole life behind, to burn the bridge back to the past. But she was counting on him to take them somewhere better.

“By order of the Queen, we can,” Percival said. “Good day, ma’am.”

“But I am a good mother! This isn’t right,” she hissed.

“If you don’t understand what you’ve done wrong, then I suggest you deeply examine your conscience,” Newt said delicately. “Have a look at your actions, see if you can summon up some compassion. It’s up to you whether or not you can find peace and redemption within your own soul.”

It was a kinder sentiment than Credence would’ve been willing to grant her, but he was grateful for it. Ma stood speechless on the porch behind them as they made their way down the lane, the bag of sandwiches swinging temptingly from Percival’s hand, smelling delightfully savory.

Modesty’s attention was locked on it, clearly famished, though she looked like she was holding her tongue against saying anything. 

“Hey,” Credence said. “Mod, you want a sandwich? You can eat anytime you’re hungry, it’s okay, you don’t have to wait until dinnertime.”

She looked up at him, uncertain. “I don’t? It’s not… gluttony?”

“No, I promise, it’s alright,” Credence said, feeling a stab of old sadness. “You’re not doing anything wrong being hungry. Chas, you want one too?”

Swallowing, Chastity nodded, and Percival carefully unwrapped two of the sandwiches, thick warm bread and soft chicken with grilled cheese. “Here you go,” he said, handing them out. He seemed very pleased that the food he'd brought was being eaten, his dark eyes alight with happiness.

“Thank you, sir,” Chastity said, and Modesty dutifully hurried to echo her thanks. 

“No need to call me sir,” Percival said gently. “I’m Percival. And this is Newt. Pleased to meet you both.” Newt gave a little wave and a bright smile, glancing at the girls in shy welcome. He was leading the group of them further up the dirt track toward the foothills, making for a tiny abandoned farmhouse in a field at the outskirts of the city.

The girls made quick work of the food. Credence could see Chastity furrowing her brow as she finished off her sandwich, perhaps wondering where they were going.

“Chas? You alright?” Credence asked.

Chastity looked at him for a moment, taking a deep breath. “Yes, of course,” she said, biting her lip as they approached the farmhouse. Newt pulled the weather-beaten old door open with a creak and poked his head inside.

“Lovely,” he said to Percival. “This’ll do.”

Modesty was staring, and Chastity looked worried, though she was trying to hide her unease.

“So, is this… our new home?” Modesty asked, a thread of disappointment and resignation in her voice.

Chastity squeezed her shoulder, forcing a determined smile as she looked at the tiny cottage, the mossy broken roof. “It’s very nice. We aren’t complaining. We will make do.”

 _Oh._ Credence was unable to hold in a bright happy laugh. “No, no,” he said giddily. “This is just a rest stop on the way to the castle!”

Modesty’s face lit up. “We’re going to live in a castle? You mean, like a palace?”

“Ah! Well, not quite,” Newt said, standing aside so they could file through the door. “Our castle’s a bit cozier than the Queen’s palace, I’m afraid, not nearly as many rooms. Though there is plenty of space for everyone. Come in, come in, I’ll get us there in a moment.”

Chastity and Modesty both looked mystified, Chastity’s eyes sliding over toward Credence.

“It’s okay, I promise,” Credence reassured her hurriedly. “It’s safe. We're just going in here for some privacy.”

The inside of the little house wasn’t much nicer than the outside, full of water damage and dirt, but all that mattered was that nobody would notice what they were up to. They all clustered in the tiny front room, hidden from view behind the boarded up windows.

“You see,” Newt said carefully. “To get home, we need to do a spell.”

“A magic spell,” Credence put in. “Magic is real.” He’d been waiting so long to say these words to his sisters, and they tasted just as sweet as he’d imagined they would. “Wizards are real, and they’re not all evil.”

“I _knew_ it!” Modesty looked triumphant. “Oh, those stories were too exciting not to be true!”

Chastity, meanwhile, was looking sharply at Credence. “And… are you one too?” It didn’t surprise him that she had already put it together, with her keen mind. “Is that how you broke your curse?” she asked quietly. “The one that made you old?”

Credence nodded. 

“You’re a wizard?” Modesty sounded both elated and nervous. “But Credence, isn’t that dangerous? What about your soul? Did you have to sign a contract with the devil?”

“No,” Credence said firmly. “No, Mod, that’s not how it works at all. Those things Ma told us were just rumors; she didn’t know anything about magic, she was just saying things like that because she was scared. It’s true that wizards can be dangerous, just like regular people can be. But being a wizard doesn’t make someone bad. We’re just normal people with an unusual talent.”

“A talent that’s secret,” Percival added, pulling his wand out of his pocket. Modesty looked fascinated. “But we have special permission from the Queen to show it to you, since you’re family.” He flicked his wrist and conjured a ball of light that glittered in the air between them.

Modesty gasped, bouncing on the balls of her feet, tugging absently on Chastity’s sleeve.

“It’s real, it’s real, it’s really magic!” she squeaked. “Chas, look!”

“I see it, Mod,” Chastity said breathlessly, eyes wide.

“Where we’re going, you’re going to see lots of magic,” Newt said. “And it may be overwhelming at first, so please let us know if anything is bothering you, if you need space to deal with all the newness. I want you to be comfortable and happy living in the castle.”

“I’m sure we will,” Chastity said sincerely, her grip white-knuckled on the small cloth bag slung over her shoulder. “We are so grateful to you for taking us in. We’ll adjust fine. We’ll behave ourselves, won’t we, Mod?”

Modesty nodded so fast her head seemed loose on her neck. “I’ll be good. I’ll do all my chores. I want to stay and see magic.”

“Oh,” Newt said, looking wrong-footed, and Credence could tell that wasn’t what he’d meant at all.

“Hey, no, Modesty,” Credence said. “This isn’t about chores. Things are different now. You won’t have to work all day. We do keep the castle tidy, but you can also have fun, you can draw, you can read as much as you want. We have a library.”

Modesty’s eyes went huge. 

“And nobody is going to beat you, or starve you,” Credence finished. “Not ever, no matter what.”

“Well,” Chastity said, her eyes a bit wet. “I’m liking the sound of this castle more and more.” She squared her shoulders bravely, head held high. “How does this magic spell work, Newt? How do we get there?”

Newt looked so tickled to hear her address him by name that it took him a moment to speak. “Er, yes, that’s… I’ll show you,” he said, delighted. “We’ll be using a transportation device called a portkey. Less uncomfortable than apparition, if you’re not used to it. Percival darling, would you like to do the honors?”

“Absolutely,” Percival said smoothly. He produced the rowan walking stick out of nowhere, sliding it out of a pocket Credence could’ve sworn was far too small to fit something so large. He grinned as Modesty gasped. “ _Portus_ ,” Percival incanted. The rowan staff glowed blue.

“Perfect. Now, gather round and get a good grip,” Newt said. “This will feel a bit strange, but all you’ve got to do is hold on tight and don’t let go.”

Heart pounding with joy and excitement, Credence reached out and took hold of the stick of smooth wood, encouraging Modesty and Chastity to do the same. Their hands clutched it firmly, both staring at him.

“Credence,” Modesty said slowly. “Is your hair glowing?”

Credence beamed at them. “Oh,” he said jubilantly, joy shining out of him. “I’ll have to explain when we get there. It’s a long story, but luckily we’ll have plenty of time.”

And then the staff gleamed brighter blue, and they were enfolded by a swirling burst of magic, carried away in a noisy gale of color, leaving the ashes of their dusty old life behind and stepping into a new one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aah! This chapter took me a long time to feel ready to post, so thank you so much for waiting. Writing endings takes me forever, I don't know why. Probably because I want it to be as satisfying as possible and I keep wanting to add in more ;) I was tempted to include a scene with our heroes arriving back at the castle and reuniting with Mira and Jacob, but this chapter was already super long, so I leave that up to your imagination :D Don't worry, though, there's still going to be a nice long epilogue (which I haven't started yet... but I will be working on asap) in which we'll get to see Modesty and Chastity enfolded into castle life and making friends with Mira and Ariel, and more Newt/Credence/Graves snuggles, and the whole family being really happy together :D :D :D Hmm, and maybe we'll see what Newt's up to with his new wand...
> 
> As always, THANK YOU so much for reading!!!! :D You have made this writing process so rewarding with your enthusiasm and support. I mean it. You are all so awesome.


	15. The Flying Ship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaah! Here we go, final chapter :) ♥ 
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading this story and for your enthusiasm and support. It has been awesome to work on, knowing you are out there enjoying it.

There was a chill in the air.

The jobberknolls were heading south, the larches turning yellow all down the mountainside, and the mooncalves were lining their burrows with fallen leaves.

That was just the way things went, of course. The seasons got on with the business of changing, regardless of whatever else was happening in the affairs of the kingdom. Nature didn’t care about silly things like nearly-averted war and greedy ambitious wizards; she kept on moving along, unstoppable and eternal. The days got shorter, the mornings frostier, and every night the stars rose above the trees to bathe the hills in their soft glow, pure and distant and joyful.

On clear nights like tonight Credence liked to watch them dance across the sky, gazing up through their new skylight window, snuggled against the solid heat of Percival’s body with Newt’s arms wrapped around both of them. The skylight had been Newt’s idea; rather than simply repairing the roof tiles knocked off by Credence’s crash landing, he'd installed a large round porthole to give them a view of the sky at night. The first time Credence had seen it he’d gotten a sort of sweet tickle in his heart, a settling-in feeling, as if both halves of himself were finally at home.

And it truly _was_ home, with his family here; Chastity and Modesty had moved in to Credence’s room downstairs and Percival had helped them split the bed into two bunks and arrange the furniture to their liking. It was odd to imagine his sisters sleeping in that same space where he’d spent all those nights wondering if his curse would ever be broken, whether he’d figure out what to do to help Grimm. But those days were finished now.

It had been a month. Long enough that the crispness of his memory of that eventful morning at the palace had started to soften and the hot turbulent emotions he’d felt had begun to fade. A month since the five of them had taken the portkey back home for the first time and been greeted with Mira’s surprised shout and Jacob’s exclamation of relief. Queenie had emerged through fireplace not long after they’d appeared, tired but smiling, with the news that Tina was staying at the palace to help oversee the diplomatic negotiations with Myria and serve as the Queen’s new Commander.

“To nobody’s surprise,” Percival had said. “She’ll do an excellent job. Seraphina is lucky to have her.”

Queenie had beamed at him.

The city was peaceful, the kingdom was safe, and summer was over.

Now, Credence stared up through the skylight and thought dreamily about the stars, about what it might be like to fly the broom up to see them a bit closer. It must be chilly all the way up there, but he supposed the stars didn’t mind. It was quite cold tonight, icy and cloudless outside with a big round moon shining down through the window. They’d had a hearty stew for supper while the wind creaked against the castle walls, and Newt had made sure to cast several warming charms on the girls’ quilts so they wouldn’t catch a chill. He was endearingly fussy about looking after them. Percival, on the other hand, liked to show his affection in more understated ways; by strengthening the protective wards around the castle even though they’d had no sign of any threats, for instance. Or by watching like a hawk the day Modesty had tried riding the broomstick with Credence, Percival’s dark eyes fixed on their progress around the habitat room and his wand slid halfway out of his pocket, ready to cast a cushioning charm if either of them showed any signs of falling.

Credence was not surprised. There was no safer place for his sisters than here with Newt and Percival, who would do anything for Chastity and Modesty’s security and happiness.

Just like they'd do anything for Credence’s.

An owl was hooting outside, probably on the hunt, winging over the hills or among the shadowy trees. Things were both quieter and noisier now that they weren’t up at the foot of the glacier any longer. The loud crashing of the river had been replaced by the intermittent rustle and squawk of the night-life in the woods. It made for an interesting change. They had been heading southeast for the past while; Ariel didn’t like the cold, and she and Newt had been moving them lower and lower as the autumn deepened, away from the icy mountain toward the moderately-less-chilly meadows and forests over by the Waste.

Tonight they'd stopped on the edge of the woods, on a hill topped with wind-battered heather and thick scrubby grass. Beyond the forest, the Waste could be seen, barren and yellow and sickly. Credence wondered if that was where they were ultimately headed. Newt hadn’t said anything about it yet, and maybe he wasn’t even conscious of the fact he was leading them there, but Credence knew Newt wanted to heal the Waste of its corruption. He wanted to go in and sweep it clean, nurture it with kindness, and give the plants and animals there a new chance, a new life. That was just the sort of thing Newt did – he offered his help and his energy to anyone who needed it. He had done it for all of the creatures in his castle already, not to mention the humans.

At the moment, Newt was pressed against Credence’s back, his breath slowly puffing against Credence’s hair in a way that didn’t sound quite deep enough for true sleep. His arm was slung across both Credence’s torso and Percival’s ribs, and one of Newt’s knees was hitched up over Credence’s legs in its customary tangled position. Percival’s face was completely relaxed, open and youthful in slumber, his broad chest rising and falling under the rumpled quilt in a steady rhythm of exhales.

But Newt still seemed to be awake; Credence was pretty sure about that. He could practically hear the wizard’s mind whirring, mulling something over, despite the fact that they’d gone to bed at least two hours ago. Of course, those two hours hadn’t been entirely quiet; first there’d been some heated snogging, and then Percival had cast some impressive wandless charms and there had followed several other rather delicious things, and by the time they were all settled in for sleep, breathless and tired out under the covers, it had been quite a bit later.

Still, Newt usually was the first of them to drift off. He normally would be snoring quietly in Credence’s ear by now; Credence couldn’t help but worry, just a little bit, that maybe something was bothering him.

“Hey,” he whispered, turning his head to nudge Newt’s temple with his nose. “You awake?”

He felt the warm gust of Newt’s sigh like a caress against his jaw. “Yeah,” Newt murmured. “You too?”

“Yep. I was just staring at the sky and thinking about you.” Credence aimed a kiss at Newt’s cheek, but because he was all turned around and he couldn’t quite reach, it landed on his eyebrow instead.

“Oh?” Newt said, a laugh in his voice. “Thinking about me, hmm? What about me?”

Credence carefully rolled himself over, trying not to disturb Percival. “I was just wondering,” he said softly. “Are you going to try and cleanse the Waste?”

Slowly, Newt took in a deep breath, reaching up to stroke Credence’s hair out of his face. “Yes,” he said. “I suppose I will. It’s got to be done, and I think I’m in the best position to do it. I’m out here already, I know the plants and the trees like I know my own hands. Grindelwald’s magic is soaked deep into the soil, but I’d wager it’s started to fade now that he’s gone. It might be weak enough for me to drive it out. And I’ve also got that elder wand, which might mean something; I think this wand has got quite a lot of power. And you and Perce can help me, if you’re willing.”

“Of course,” Credence said. “I want to help, and I know he will too.”

For a moment they both looked over at Percival’s handsome face, the dark smudge of his eyelashes against his cheeks. Credence was reminded of the many nights he had spent asleep next to Grimm, safe and secure, never doubting the wolf’s bone-deep loyalty. Some things never really changed.

“Alright,” Newt whispered warmly against Credence’s lips. “We will do it together, then.” Credence could feel the pull of his smile, the warm slide of his fingers running through Credence’s hair.

“Is that what was keeping you awake?” Credence asked. “Were you worried about the Waste?”

“No, no,” Newt murmured. “Nothing like that. I was just struck by an idea right as I was falling asleep, and then I couldn’t get it out of my head. It’s a good thing,” he promised, nudging the tip of Credence’s nose with his own. “I was thinking about renovating the castle.”

Credence blinked, his eyelashes brushing Newt’s cheek. “Renovating it?” he said. “You mean… transfiguring the furniture?”

“Mmm, maybe. But also transfiguring the walls, moving the rooms around,” Newt said. “They are all made of Ariel’s wood, and Ariel’s wood is controlled by her will and my magic. We could shift the whole floorplan if we wanted to. But I don’t think we need to do anything too drastic. I was just… well, I was thinking it would be nice if Chastity and Modesty each had their own bedroom, a bit of personal space to really call their own. We could reconfigure some things, put in an extra toilet downstairs, and move Mira’s bedroom to the second floor with the other two girls. When she comes back next summer I’m sure she’s going to want to be close to them.”

“Good idea,” Credence whispered. As of now, Mira’s vacant bedroom shared a wall with Newt’s, up here at the top of the castle. He could think of a couple reasons why that might not work so well anymore.

“And,” Newt said. “I thought we might want to make a balcony off of our bedroom. Like an observation deck, where we can sit outside when the weather’s good, or even sleep under the stars in the summer. Maybe it could also be a landing platform for you, when you want to go out on the broom.”

“Oh,” Credence breathed. That sounded awfully nice. He could feel himself starting to shine at the very idea, a warm prickle of happiness glowing all over his skin and his scalp.

“I take it you approve,” Newt said, grinning, pressing a soft kiss against Credence’s lips. “Oh, I love it when you shine, darling.”

Credence wriggled an arm around Newt’s waist and eagerly deepened the kiss into a wet, satisfying snog. Gosh, Newt’s lips were just so kissable.

“Mmph.” There was a sleepy noise from the other side of the bed, where the light seemed to have woken Percival. “Credence?”

Credence let go of Newt, rolling over in regret. “Oh, I’m sorry Percy, I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said. “I can’t seem to stop myself from shining! Maybe we should get some blindfolds after all.”

Percival squinted blearily into the starlight filled bedroom, grinning as he rose up onto his elbows, his hair a tousled mess. “No, no,” he said. “How else will I know when you’re starting round two without me, huh?”

“What? Oh, no, we were just– Oh! _Percy!”_ Credence’s explanation turned into a happy shriek as Percival playfully flung himself at the both of them. “Aah! That tickles,” he giggled breathlessly. Percival was nuzzling him like a wolf, placing sleepy snuffling kisses against his ear, the sensitive skin of his neck, nipping gently at his jaw. Credence threw his head back and laughed, shining brighter, while Percival kissed his throat. He could feel Newt laughing as Percival turned to give him the same treatment, the vibrations of his helpless guffaws thrumming pleasantly against Credence’s ribs.

“What do you have to say for yourselves?” Percival said, his normally perfect hair rumpled with sleep. “Were you going to leave me out? Have a bit of fun without me?”

“No, no,” Credence protested, grinning. “We were just talking about renovations!”

“Renovations?” Percival asked.

“Really, we were,” Newt put in. “I suggested giving the bedroom a balcony for stargazing, and Credence looked so happy about that idea that I just had to kiss him.”

“A balcony,” Percival said. “Oh, that is a good idea, to let Credence see the sky. And it could be useful for security purposes as well, a good vantage point to look out for threats. What a clever boy you are,” he murmured, leaning in and kissing Newt long and slow.

“Mmm.”

They were at it for a while. It gave Credence ample time to enjoy the view and to think of another question.

“What about you, Percy?” he asked, as Percival and Newt resurfaced, lips kiss-swollen. “Is there anything that would be useful for you to have? A room to keep all of your sneakoscopes in?”

Percival had an impressive collection of whirring, puffing little devices meant to detect danger, and Credence was sure he would probably like to keep them in tidier order than they were right now. Seraphina had sent his personal belongings over from the palace a while ago, but they hadn’t had a lot of room, so various things were still stashed haphazardly on the shelves and the desk among Newt’s towering piles of field notebooks. A couple of delicate-looking brass mechanisms were even stowed on top of the terrarium in the corner, where a baby fire crab who’d come down with an eye infection was dozing under a warming charm.

“Yes,” Newt said eagerly. “We could do that! A study for you, Perce, so you can have all your books in order and your foe glass properly on the wall, and everything else the way you want it. And you ought to have a fireplace too, so you can floo with Tina and the Queen when they inevitably want to consult you for security advice.”

“Oh.” Now Percival looked as if he wanted to kiss both of them all over again. “Yes,” he said hoarsely. “That would be very nice. I’d like that.”

“Well, that settles it,” Newt announced. “We can put your study up here where Mira’s room used to be. I’ll go over all the new changes with Ariel in the morning, make sure she’s alright with this.” He beamed, faint smile lines creasing around his eyes. “This is going to be fun, I can already tell. I’ll sketch out the floorplan after breakfast, and we should be finished before lunchtime. It’ll be the same castle, just freshened up and shuffled around a bit.”

“Sounds good,” Credence said, snuggling into his pillow in contentment. “And afterward we can celebrate with pierogis. I’ll make them for dinner - those garlicky chicken ones that you like.”

“Merlin, you’re marvelous,” Percival said fervently. “Both of you.”

“Yes,” Credence agreed comfortably, giving Percival’s nightshirt collar a demanding little tug. “We are. Now kiss me, it’s my turn. And then we can go to sleep.”

And Percival was happy to oblige.

 

In the morning, it turned out Ariel was just as excited about the idea of a remodel as Newt had been.

“Ooh,” she said. “Really? That could be nice, we haven’t shuffled things around in a while. But I thought you didn’t like the way renovations drained your magic?”

Newt shared a small private smile with Percival and Credence. “Yes, well. I don’t think that’s going to be a problem this time. Between us, we’ve got more than enough power to give the castle a bit of a spruce-up.”

“That’s certainly true,” Ariel said, smirking. “Well, in that case I’m all for it. Let’s do it!”

With the addition of her seal of approval, all that was left were the preparations. Newt passed the morning at the kitchen table with a pencil and ruler and a diagram of the castle, a complicated-looking set of protractors at his elbow and an abacus sitting next to him whose beads were sliding back and forth of their own accord. Every so often he would mutter to himself, tapping his wand against the paper and moving the pencil lines around.

Credence watched him curiously from the couch, tying off Modesty’s braid with a ribbon and wondering what to do with the rest of the morning. The window was open and the air outside air smelled fresh and crisp, and he was itching to go for a walk, but he felt bad leaving Newt to do all the work on his own.

Newt, however, didn’t seem to need any help. “Go on, darling, I’ve got this under control. Please, go enjoy the clear skies! I can smell rain in the air; it’ll be here by tomorrow, but you’ve got perfect conditions today for a nice stroll. Don’t worry, this isn’t as complicated as it looks, I just want to double-check I’ve done all the calculations right. I’ve had to do these dimensional alterations before for the habitats, and it doesn’t do to be sloppy.”

And so, Credence found himself striding through the peaceful grass on the hill outside the castle, the wind whipping at his hair and teasing strands loose from the tail Percival had carefully tied for him. Credence always liked to get outside around midday, if the weather permitted it, just to stretch his legs and breathe in the open air. Chastity and Modesty had elected to come with him, and Percival too, of course, following like a protective shadow.

The sky was clear, but there was a scent of moisture on the breeze, a cool humid blanket of freshness. Chastity had insisted on bundling Modesty in one of the thick new sweaters Newt had bought for her, while she herself had shyly donned one of Queenie’s hand-me-down coats. They both paused next to Credence, stopping on the crest of the hill to stare out across the windswept expanse before them.

“Even though we’ve been here long enough that I know this isn’t a dream, it just doesn’t seem real,” Chastity murmured, pink-cheeked with cold, one gloved hand resting absently on Modesty’s shoulder. “Just look at that view.”

“I think it’s better than a dream!” Modesty said gleefully. “I’ve never had dreams this magical before. Creedy, what’s going to happen now? Are you gonna transform the castle into something else?”

“Well, I don’t think the outside will change,” Credence replied, squinting over his shoulder at the wooden hull of the ship. “But Ariel can move the wood around inside and make the space different. We’re going to make some new bedrooms for you two, and an office with a fireplace for Percy, so he can talk to people in the floo.”

Percival gave him a small smile. He was bundled up with one of Newt’s thick wool scarves around his neck, the wind making the long tails of his coat billow behind him like a cape.

“Oh,” Modesty said. “Like how Mira and Queenie stuck their heads through the fireplace yesterday?”

“Yes,” Percival said. “That’s exactly right.”

Queenie and Jacob had gone back to the city to run their bakery, and Mira had gone home with her parents for the colder months, but that didn’t stop them from popping through the floo for a visit whenever they had the time. Mira and Modesty had bonded over their shared love of drawing, and often spent a free afternoon happily ensconced at the kitchen table with their heads bent together, giggling and sketching wild creatures, some of them familiar beasts from the habitat room and some of them completely made up. It made Credence’s heart feel warm and achy whenever he saw them getting along so well; in the beginning he had been concerned that the two of them might have trouble finding common ground. But he shouldn’t have worried. Modesty was shy at first, but Mira had her father’s talent for taking things in stride, along with her mother’s compassion and a healthy dose of longing for a playmate close to her own age.

“You and I will be best friends,” Mira had announced irrefutably when they’d been introduced that first day, while Modesty stared at her in hesitant shock.

“But you’re a witch,” Modesty breathed. “And I’m normal.”

For a moment Credence had feared disaster, but Mira had simply turned thoughtful for a moment. “That’s a good thing,” she declared. “You know how to do useful things the no-maj way, and I know a bunch of spells, so between us we know twice as much as other people. When we’re grown up we’ll be able to travel everywhere and see everything, and do all sorts of interesting things. We can be magizoologists together; I can do the magic and you can make sure we don’t look suspicious to the no-majes, and we can both take notes and draw lots of pictures. You don’t have to know spells to study creatures, you just have to care about them and be patient and understanding.”

Mira’s undaunted confidence had Credence hiding a grin, meeting Queenie’s amused gaze over the girls’ heads.

“Okay,” Modesty had said, after a few seconds of wide-eyed contemplation. “That sounds good.”

And that, it seemed, was that. Childhood logic was fearless in its simplicity.

Overall, Modesty had been adapting to their new life quite well, which filled Credence with no small measure of relief. She had gone silent and pale the first time Credence had used magic in front of her, her narrowed eyes fixed on the outstretched hand he’d just used to summon the tea pot. A moment later, however, she had wanted to know exactly how he did that, and if he might show her again.

Now, Modesty was bouncing eagerly on her feet, her eyes shining. “I’m really going to have my own bedroom, then?” she asked. “Will it have a four-poster bed? Mira’s room upstairs has a four-poster bed, she showed me, it’s like being inside a tent. Last week when she was here we closed all the curtains and pretended we were in a jungle tent on an expedition to observe dragons, and she had a book with all the different species of dragon and the pictures _moved_ and it was so _amazing_.”

Credence reached over and tugged on one of her braids. “I bet it was,” he said. “Yes, of course, we can make your bed a four-poster if you want. Chas, what about you? Any special requests?”

Chastity was quiet for a moment, thinking. She’d settled into this new world with her usual tidy industriousness, trying her best to adapt and make herself useful around the castle. Credence could see that it sometimes made her anxious though, being so untethered. Their life here was full of unknowns, full of freedom and opportunity. They had all lived in such rigidity for so long that being allowed to do whatever they wanted was a bit overwhelming.

“Maybe… a bit more space in the kitchen?” she said carefully. “The other day, when Jacob was showing us how to plait challah, you and I kept bumping elbows. If we had a wider countertop we could work better side by side.”

“Oh, good point,” Credence said. They really did need some more room, now that they had more people using the kitchen. Even when Chastity or Jacob or Queenie wasn’t cooking alongside Credence, Percival liked to hover by the counter and watch him at work, sipping a cup of tea and leaning casually next to the sink, distracting and handsome, waiting quietly for Credence to give him a sample of whatever he was making.

Credence had poked fun at him for it earlier that week. “I’ve got you habituated to this, haven’t I?” he’d said fondly. Percival had been in his customary spot, his dark eyes fixed on the flexing muscles in Credence’s forearms as he whipped together pancake batter for breakfast. “I hand-fed you all the time as a wolf, and now you expect special treats from me whenever I’m making something,” he giggled.

Endearingly, Percival’s ears had turned a bit pink. “Oh,” he said, setting down his mug on the counter. “I suppose I do keep coming over here, out of habit. If I’m in the way, I can go and– _mmph_.”

But Credence had leaned over and kissed him. “Don’t be silly,” he whispered. “Stay right here, I need you. I’ll have you taste test the first pancake. It’s a very important job.”

“Okay,” Percival rumbled happily, pressing closer and nuzzling his cheek. “Anything you want.”

By the time the first pancake was ready, Credence was shining a bit, helplessly joyful, lighting up the kitchen with a steady white glow. One of Percival’s hands had found its way to Credence’s waist, thumb rubbing gently against his hip, and he held obediently still while Credence fed him a bit of pancake, his lips very soft against Credence’s fingers.

Even out here in the chilly wind, the memory of that moment made Credence feel a bit warm. Percival’s lips in general made Credence feel warm, not to mention the things those lips had done last night. Credence straightened the collar of his coat, his cheeks going hot. He could feel Percival watching him, a wolfish glint of mischief in his eyes.

Credence cleared his throat, blushing. “Some extra space is a great idea, with all the extra hands we’ve got,” he said, nodding to Chastity. “I’ll ask Newt to add that in. I’m sure we can make it happen.”

“Alright,” Chastity said. “Good. That way when everyone comes over tomorrow we’ll have plenty of room to make a nice big spread of food. I was thinking maybe that mushroom soup from Jacob’s cookbook, with potato pancakes and roasted carrots on the side, and Queenie said she’d bring gingerbread for dessert.”

“Mmm,” Modesty said, leaning into Chastity’s side blissfully. “That sounds good.”

Unsurprisingly, whenever Queenie and Jacob stopped by they arrived with some sort of dish in hand, bringing the smell of bread and pie through the fireplace with them, along with the more undefinable scent of family, the intangible aroma of love and comfort. Chastity and Modesty had latched on to them with a sort of desperate adoration that mirrored how Credence had felt the first time Queenie had hugged him. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that Queenie and Jacob were _parents_ , and yet they were about as opposite from Ma as possible. Their affection was unconditional; it came with no spite attached, no rules or unbending demands. They didn’t keep their hearts hidden behind an icy façade of scorn and righteousness; they were warm in all the ways Ma had been cold. It was hard to resist clinging to people like that.

And tomorrow, Queenie, Jacob and Mira were coming over for dinner, and Tina was even going to tear herself away from her new position to join them! Credence couldn’t wait to have them all in one place again. “I bet they’ll be excited to see the renovations,” Credence said excitedly. “We’ll have to give them a tour!”

“Uh huh,” Modesty said contentedly, still half-preoccupied with daydreaming about the gingerbread.

The rest of their walk was fairly quiet. When they got to the edge of the trees, they made a loop and turned around to stride back toward the large wooden shape of the castle. Its bulky hull rose high above the grassy hill, eccentric and beautiful, with the protruding porch door between the squat mechanical feet waiting to welcome them back home. The sight of the ship looming over them gave Credence a tiny flash of surreal nostalgia, remembering the first time he’d seen it, when he’d been freezing and exhausted with a starving wolf keeping him company, with no idea how much both of their lives were going to change after they walked through that door.

Percival was walking at Credence’s side, lost in thought, his hands in his pockets. Credence glanced at him for a moment, then carefully pulled off one of his mittens and drifted a bit closer, sliding his bare hand into Percival’s pocket to clutch his fingers.

“Hmm?” Percival looked up from his contemplation of the grass and squeezed Credence’s fingers warmly. “Hey. What’s this for?”

“Nothing,” Credence murmured, setting the point of his chin on Percival’s shoulder for a moment. “I’m just glad we’re both here. And not cursed anymore.”

Percival nodded, letting out a slow breath. “I’ll second that.” Credence leaned his head more firmly on the man’s shoulder.

Across the grass, Chastity looked like she was trying not to stare. Credence knew it wasn’t easy for her to adjust to the idea of him being in love with a man, let alone _two_ men, on top of the fact that he was half-star and could do magic and fly on a broom and make fire in his hand. It was a lot to process for a girl who’d grown up being force-fed a severely limited definition of what was normal. But she was slowly digesting it all. He was still her brother, and she would never turn her back on him.

Modesty was a little harder to read, but Credence was pretty sure it didn’t matter one bit to her who he was holding hands with, as long as he was happy. At the moment she was skipping through the grass and singing some sort of rhyme about cake, probably something she’d made up on the spot. Clearly, the fact that her brother had his cheek on another man’s shoulder wasn’t nearly as interesting as the prospect of gingerbread.

They had nearly reached the castle now, and Credence felt a faint brush of magic ripple over him as they passed through the security wards, a pleasant sensation not unlike a hand smoothing over his hair. He’d been getting better at sensing magical boundaries now that Newt had been teaching him how to feel for them and Percival had been showing him how to cast them himself. This one felt warm and friendly, a welcoming caress. But perhaps that was just because it was Percival’s, and Percival’s magic loved Credence as much as Percival did.

The four of them trooped up the stairs and through the subtle secondary tickle of the enemy-repelling charm on the door, sighing in relief at the toasty warmth of the kitchen after the cold wind outside. They found Newt crouched on the wood floor by the fireplace with the hearth rug rolled back and his familiar ash wand in hand. He still had Grindelwald’s wand upstairs in his desk, that old power-drenched elder stick with the carved berries, but he seemed to prefer this one for daily use, now that Seraphina had sent it back to him from Percival’s office.

“Ah!” Newt said, grinning brightly. He flicked his wrist and conjured a thick piece of chalk. “Lovely. You’re all back. I’m just about ready to draw the sigils to hold the castle’s outward dimensions steady. Can’t have the habitat room shifting about, or the ship bulging all over the place.”

Ariel raised an eyebrow. “I should hope not,” she sniffed. “You’d better not warp me, Captain.”

“Oh, no, don’t worry,” Newt said. “I’ve made certain that the numbers are right. I’m not taking any chances.”

He set to work with a flourish, drawing a careful chalk circle on the floor with a cluster of arithmetic symbols inside and a line of complicated runes around the perimeter.

“There we go,” Newt murmured, brushing his hair out of his eyes and accidentally getting a smear of chalk on his nose. “That’ll do nicely. Alright! Now, I think we’re ready to begin.”

Credence’s heart began to beat faster.

“No time like the present,” Percival said. “What do you need us to do, Newt?”

“Come over here. We’ve got to be touching the wood together, all three of us.”

Percival and Credence strode over to the chalk circle and knelt next to Newt on the floor, while Chastity and Modesty perched themselves on the couch to watch.

“Oh!” Credence said. “I almost forgot. Can we add in a bit of extra counter space in the kitchen? And a four-poster bed in Modesty’s new room?”

“Of course,” Newt said, beaming over at the girls. “Chastity, would you like a four-poster as well?”

Chastity hesitated for a moment, and then straightened her shoulders. “If it’s no trouble, yes please,” she said quietly.

“No trouble in the least,” Newt replied brightly. “And, fair warning, if you don’t like the color of the hangings we can always change them. They’re probably going to start off yellow, if the magic pulls the design from my subconscious. My childhood bed had yellow sheets patterned with badgers.” Blithely, he swirled his wand, while Credence stifled a surge of curiosity. Newt rarely talked about his childhood, but maybe someday he’d share the whole story.

With a final swish of his wrist, Newt activated the runes. They lit up, glowing green and gold.

“Ready, Ariel?”

The nymph grinned out of her canvas, flexing her small fingers in anticipation. “Aye aye, Captain.”

“Here we go, then,” Newt said, laying his palm in the center of the chalk circle. “Credence, Percival, just put your hands on top of mine. I’m going to guide the spell and your magic is going to help fuel it. Picture the castle with all the changes we talked about, imagine the new rooms settling into place and all of it staying sturdy and strong.”

Credence’s hand felt warm, sandwiched between Newt’s knuckles and Percival’s palm. Their magic was flowing together with every breath, warm leafy energy and bright starlight and steadfast mountain-like strength. He pictured their shared power mingling and working to infuse their home with good things. He imagined a balcony leading off of Newt’s bedroom, with wide glass doors that opened into the bright endless sky. It would be so wonderful to take the broom up there and go for a ride over the meadow, to rise up into the air and feel the wind against his face.

“Ooh, it’s happening,” Ariel said. “Here we go, I can feel it.”

There was a vibrating, shimmering rush of power building in the floorboards underneath their hands. The air sparkled and the wood seemed to ripple and flex, drenched in magic. There was a faint thud and a pop, and the kitchen elongated around them, the counter stretching like taffy to twice its previous length, the floor broadening itself obligingly.

He could hear something happening upstairs, too, though he couldn’t see any of it. There was a creak and a scrape as the walls shifted, and Credence closed his eyes and pictured Mira’s bedroom moving down a floor, and two new bedrooms making space for themselves, cozy and comfortable, with four-poster beds and plenty of room for toys and books and games. Modesty and Chastity didn’t have very many belongings to fill their rooms with yet, but that was going to change.

Maybe he should get Modesty her own broom-riding helmet! She had seemed to enjoy it, that time they’d gone on a tandem ride in the habitat room. He was fairly sure Chastity wasn’t quite ready to try it yet, but eventually she might be willing to give it a go.

Oh, Credence couldn’t wait to go flying outside again on a proper broom, under a clear sky, with no palace guards shooting spells at him and no danger hanging over his head! He wanted to soar up into the air and look down at the ground from above, to experience that weightless wonderful feeling again.

“Almost done,” Newt panted. Credence opened his eyes. Ariel was grinning in delighted focus, her hands braced against the picture frame around her canvas. Newt looked winded but pleased, a bit of sweat gleaming on his brow. “Just one last piece – I wanted to make a nice tile floor in the new lavatory.”

There was a ceramic clink and a gritty squelch of grout.

“Yep,” Ariel said. “There’s the tile. Teal green, very nice.”

“Merlin’s beard! Alright, that’s all of it,” Newt said happily. “We’ve done it!”

He let his hand come up off the floor, leaning back and breathing hard. On the couch, Modesty cheered, and Ariel sent her a wink and a beaming grin. The glowing runes faded slowly back into plain chalk, and the walls and the floor stopped sparkling with power. Everything settled back into calm.

“Wow,” Chastity whispered. “So, it’s safe to go upstairs now?”

“Yes, yes,” Newt said eagerly. “Go and have a look!”

Modesty wasted no time in bounding up from the couch and climbing the stairs with a clatter. Chastity followed at a more sedate pace, though she looked excited too. A moment later, they could hear Modesty’s muffled holler of victory and Chastity’s exclamation of delight, and Credence shared a bright smile with Newt and Percival, his heart clenching with happiness.

Newt wiped the sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt, rising to his feet and twisting his torso around with a groan, stretching his spine. “Ah!” he sighed. “Good. That went well. I’m so grateful for your help, darlings, I would be completely wiped out if I’d try to do that on my own. Even so, I’m tired and famished.”

“Yes, food,” Credence said, rolling up his sleeves and turning to the newly-widened kitchen counter. “I’d say it’s time for lunch.”

“Which I will make,” Percival said firmly, squeezing Credence’s shoulder and leaning in to press a quick kiss to his forehead. “Because you shouldn’t have to do all the cooking, and you’ve generously offered to make dinner tonight.”

“Oh, alright,” Credence said, as Percival gave him a gentle push toward the couch.

“Go on, relax for a bit, both of you,” Percival said. “I’ll grill some sandwiches in the pan and heat up some cider.”

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Newt murmured. “That sounds delicious.”

Percival kissed him on the cheek on his way to the pantry, wiping the smear of chalk off his nose with one gentle finger.

Warm with happiness, Credence let himself sink into the couch, stretching out his legs while Newt flopped down beside him. With a happy groan, Newt allowed his head to roll onto Credence’s shoulder, his soft hair brushing Credence’s neck.

“Thanks for doing all that,” Credence said quietly, turning his head to bury his nose in Newt’s curls. “Thanks for everything; for welcoming us, making us all feel at home. You’re amazing.”

“Um, hey?” Ariel said.

“Oh! And thank you, too, Ariel!” Credence said hurriedly. “That must’ve taken a lot of power and concentration. Thank you so much for making those changes for us. We really appreciate it.”

“Yeah, that’s sweet, Credence, but… a little help here?” Ariel said. Newt and Credence both looked sharply over at her painting. “Um,” the nymph said again, wide-eyed and flummoxed, floating several feet off the painted ground. “So, something’s happening. Got a bit of a case of levitation going on.”

Newt scrambled to his feet, pulling out his wand instinctively. “Something’s wrong?” he asked. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine, I think,” Ariel said dryly. “Just… this is new. And a little strange.” She reached one small bare foot tentatively toward the mossy forest floor and the rest of her floated downward until she was standing on the ground again. “Okay,” she said. “That’s more what I’m used to. I’m a tree spirit, I don’t usually _float_. Trees belong on the ground, with the soil. But it seems like maybe…” She squinted, tilting her head in concentration, and then she was rising up into the air again. “Oh,” she breathed. “I think I can fly now.” She let out a slightly hysterical giggle. “Any ideas what’s going on, Captain?”

“Wha– are you sure?” Newt asked. “Could it just be residual magic from our re-shaping spell? Maybe you’re casting a levitation charm on yourself without… er, without realizing it?” He seemed uncertain, though.

Ariel snorted. “Not possible. I’m not like you humans, I don’t cast accidental magic. A dryad's always in control of her wood, and I’ve got a clear set of skills that do _not_ include floating off into the air. Wood doesn’t fly.”

“Well, no,” Newt said, frowning. “Not unless it’s a broomstick, I suppose, or some other structure that has been infused with enough magic to give it flight capabilities. But that’s advanced spellwork, it would take quite a bit of skill.”

“Not to mention a _lot_ of power,” Ariel said. “And a good amount of determination and focus and the ability to visualize the results, and…”

Credence’s mouth dropped open. Uh oh.

“Aaand I’m just realizing as I’m saying all this that the answer’s right in front of us,” Ariel finished, her head swiveling in Credence’s direction. She laughed. “Jove, you really are something. This was you, wasn’t it?”

“Oops,” Credence said.

Ariel threw her head back and guffawed, while Newt looked at him in astonishment.

“I’m sorry,” Credence said. “I didn’t mean to! During the spell I was thinking about going flying on the broom, and I must’ve… my magic must’ve picked up on that.” He winced. “I didn’t know this would happen.”

“Merlin’s beard, Credence,” Newt breathed, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Oh, only you could do such a big piece of spellwork by _accident_ ,” Ariel chortled. “Gosh, you crack me up. But hey, don’t apologize, this isn’t a bad thing. In fact, you’ve given me a gift!” She threw her arms out, soaring up into the air in the painted forest.

Around them, the castle suddenly gave a subtle shudder.

“What was that?” Percival asked, emerging from the pantry with his wand drawn, ready to defend everyone.

“Oh!” Ariel breathed. “OH!” She began to laugh again, wild with joy. “Credence, this is amazing! Of _course_ , if I can fly, so can the castle!”

She closed her eyes in concentration, bringing her arms up higher, and the floor shifted again. There was a faint creaking of the ship’s timbers, a whooshing of air. And then the trees outside appeared to begin slipping downward as the castle rose up into the sky.

“Ariel!” Newt said. “Now, hold on. I really think we should go about this reasonably, proceed with caution, I–”

“WOOHOO!” Ariel bellowed, her face alight with excitement.

“Oh, good gracious,” Newt said.

“I CAN FLY!” Ariel cried jubilantly. “Oh, this is incredible! Newt, look, we’re flying!”

“Yes, I can see that,” Newt replied. “Just, please be careful! Don’t forget, you've got delicate passengers inside. We can’t afford to crash back down.”

“We won’t crash, I promise,” Ariel said, her voice breathy with certainty. “This is… it’s safe, I can feel it! The flight magic is guiding us, keeping us up, making sure I know what to do!”

“Alright,” Newt said carefully. “But if you start to feel wobbly, I want you to take us right back down. Percy, it appears we’re going for a ride. Best wait on lunch until we’re sure this magic is stable. Can you tell the girls to come down here? I’d feel better having them with us, just in case.”

But there were already footsteps thumping back down the stairs. “What’s going on?” Chastity asked. “The floor started moving!”

“Are we _flying?_ ” Modesty said, hurrying over to the open kitchen window.

“Careful, careful,” Percival said automatically, catching Modesty as she tried to lean out over the window box. “Easy there, we don’t want you to fall.”

“Oh, gosh,” Modesty said, swallowing and backing away to look from a safer distance. “That… it’s a long way down!”

Credence, stung by curiosity, couldn’t help but cross to the window to have a look. The air outside was streaming past the sill, fresh and cool, and the hilltop they’d been standing on was dwindling below them. They could see a breathtaking view of the landscape all around, the forest and the meadows covering the foothills, the river and the mountain and the tiny distant rooftops of the city.

“This is amazing!” Ariel crowed, and Credence couldn’t help but agree with her. “I can’t get enough of it! Credence, I can see why you love this so much! Oh, Newt, I can do this, I can really do this, don’t worry. We’re not going to fall; I can feel it, Credence gave me all the power I need to stay up here however long we’d like. Just think! We can move so much faster this way! We can cross over the mountains and take Frank home, we can fly over to the Waste and put it to rights and then see what’s on the other side! We can go to the _ocean!_ Don’t you think the girls and Credence would like to see the shore of the ocean? Come on, Newt, I know you love the beach. Tidepools and merpeople and selkies!”

Despite himself, Newt seemed to be catching a bit of her enthusiasm. “Yes, I suppose so,” he said, smiling. “That is a wonderful idea. Just don’t go too fast, and take breaks to set us down every once in a while. We don’t want you getting tired.”

“Yes, alright,” Ariel said, “I’ll be careful, don’t fret. I’ve got the hang of this.”

The castle had stopped rising and begun moving at a steady glide toward the south. Below them, the landscape slipped past in bright swatches of autumn foliage and rippling grass.

“I can’t quite believe this,” Chastity whispered, crossing over to join Credence, Modesty and Percival at the window. “I thought the castle was magical enough already, and now it can fly?”

Newt joined them too, a helpless grin on his face. “It’s all thanks to your brother,” he said, sliding a hand onto Credence’s back. “I’m learning that not much is impossible when he’s around.”

Modesty stared up at Credence with eyes gone huge. “You did this?” she whispered. “With your magic powers?”

“Yeah,” Credence replied. “I guess I did.”

“Wow!” She looked spellbound, but not in the least bit frightened. It was incredible how little she resembled the stifled girl she’d been back at the church. This was a new Modesty, a vivacious explorer with her whole life ahead of her. “Well, you’re the best wizard ever,” she said matter-of-factly, turning back to peer out the window. “Just wait until Mira sees this!”

Percival shared an amused glance with Newt, his fingers searching out Credence’s hand.

“I think they’ll all be quite amazed tomorrow,” Newt murmured. “Coming through the fireplace for dinner and finding themselves up in the air!”

Chastity let out a shy giggle. “Oh, it’ll be marvelous,” she said, eyes bright with excitement, the wind ruffling her hair.

“I can’t wait!” Modesty said, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Mira and I can pretend to be pilots on an airship! And we can pretend to go all over the world, see all kinds of different things! Except it _won’t_ be pretend, it’ll be real!”

Credence grinned at her, his heart feeling as weightless as the castle, floaty and warm and full of joy. This was his life now; it was the life he had always wanted, for his sisters and for himself. A life of adventure and freedom and love.

He looked out into the boundless sky, the fresh expanse of possibility, his heart burning with never-ending light.

“Yes,” he said. “The world is full of wonderful things. And we’re going to explore all of it.”

 

_Fin_

 

 

 

But wait!!!!! There's more, y'all :)

Check _out_ this amazing artwork by LonelyCatAngelKaty!!!!! ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

I can't even handle how wonderful and cute these are. Katy, you are awesome and you put so much love and research and hard work into these, and I feel so lucky you wanted to draw art for this story :D :D :D

 

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

If you'd like to check out more of Katy's work (and give her some love and appreciation), you can find her on [DeviantArt](https://www.deviantart.com/lonelycatangelkaty) or [Tumblr](http://lonelycatangelkaty.tumblr.com) or [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/lonelycatangelkaty2/) or Twitter @Katy_Tenshi92

:D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, oh my goodness! This story has been so much fun to work on. Thank you all again so much for reading!!!!!!!!!! I've never attempted a plot this complicated before, so thank you for bearing with me through all the twists and turns (and hopefully I didn't leave too many unintentional plot holes... haha, let me know if you spot any, I'll try and fix them ;P ) I appreciate all your comments and your kudos, they really mean a lot to me, and they fuel me _so_ much!!!
> 
> I will definitely be back with more fic in the near future - I've got a lot of writing to do before anything else is ready to post, but be assured I've got several other stories in my brain all clamoring to be written ;P (ack!) Some are other AUs and some (gasp) are set in the canon universe which I'm really excited about because I still haven't done that yet!!!!! So, stay tuned for a wide variety of more stories from me.
> 
> HUGS!


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